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I*RICE IS CENTS 



.ar^/^^-^A. 




DE "WITT'S ACTING- PLAYS. 

(Number 149.) 




CLiOUDS. 



M ORIGINAL AMERICAS COMEDY, 11^ FOUR ACTS. 



BY FEED MAESDEN". 

(W. A. SLIVER.) 

ATTTHOB or " ALMA ; OK, HELD IS BONDAGE," " NEMESIS ; OB, SUNSHINE AND 
SHADOW," " IN THE TOILS," " TETJMPS," " SILVEB STAE," ETC., ETC. 



Author's ^dition. 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 



TO WHICH AT.E ADDED 



A description of the Costume— Cast of the Characters— Entrances Bad Exits — 

Belative Positions of the Performers on the Stage, and 

the whole of the Stage Business. 




Sttto-goitli : 
ROBERT M. DE WITT, PUBLISHER, 

2fo. 33 Hose Street. 




THE OVERI>ANl> ROUTE. A Comedy. In Three Acts. By Tom 
now J Taylor. Price 15 Cents. 
iJ!!^n-p. I illlT OFF AVITH A SHIIil^ING. A Comedietta. In One Act. 



DE WITT'S ACTING PLAYS. 



^" Please notice that nearly all the Comedies, Farces and Comediettas in the followL 
^Ist of De Witt's Acting Plats" are very suitable Jw representation in small A?nateur TIu 
tres and on Parlor Stages, as they need but little extrinsic aid from complicated scenery 
exiKnsive costmnes. They have attained their deserved popularity by their droll sitnatim 
excellent plots, great humor and brilliant dialogues, no less than by the fact that they are t 
most perfect in every 7'espect of any edition of plays ever ^mblished either in the United Stat 
or Eu7vpe, whether as regards 2nirity of the text, accuracy and fulness of stage directions ai 
scenery, or elegance of typography and clearness of j^rinting. 

*** In ordering please copy the figures at the commencement of each piece, which indica 
the number of the piece in "De Witt's List of Acting Plats." 

1^" Amj of the following Plays sent, postage free, on receipt of p>rice — 1 

cents each. 

Address, ROBERT M. DE WITT, 

JVo. SS Hose Street, JVew York. 

J^~ The figure following the name of the Play denotes the number < 
Acts. The figures in the columns indicate the number of characters — M. malt 
r. female. 



No. M. 

75. Adrienn*, drama, 3 acts 7 

114. Anything for a Change, comedy, 1 3 
167. Apple Blossoms, comedy, 3 acts. . . 7 

93. Area Belle (The), larce, 1 act 3 

40. Atchi, comedietta, 1 act 3 

89. Aunt Charlotte's Maid, farce. 1 act.. 3 

192. Game of Cards (A), cumedietta, 1 3 
16(j. Bardell vs. Pickwick, sketch, 1 act. 6 

41. Beautiful Forever, farce, 1 act 3 

141. Bells (The), drama, 3 acts 9 

67. Birthplace of Podgers, farce, 1 act. . 7 
36. Black Sheep, drama, 3 acts 7 

160. Blow for Blow, drama, 4 acts 11 

70. Bonnie Fish Wife, farce, 1 act 3 

179. Breach of Promise,, drama, 2 acts.. 5 

25. Broken-Hearted Club, comedietta, 1 4 

24. Cabman, No. 93, farce, 1 act. 3 

1. Caste, comedy, 3 acts 5 

69. Caught by the Cuff, farce, 1 act 4 

175. Ciisf upon the World, drama, 5 acts. 10 
55. Catharine Howard, historical play, 

3 acts 12 

80. Charming pair, farce, 1 act 4 

65. Checkmate, comedy, 2 acts 6 

68. Chevalier de St. George, drama, 3 9 

76. Chops of the Channel, farce, 1 act. 3 

149. Clouds, comedy, 4 acts 8 

121. Comical Countess, farce, 1 act 3 

107. Cupboard Love, farce, 1 act 2 

1.52. Cupid's Eye-Glass, comedy, 1 act... 1 

52. Cup of Tea, comedietta, 1 act 3 

148. Cut off with a Shilling, comedietta, 

1 net 2 

113. Cvrill's Success, comedy, 5 acts 10 

199. Captain of the Watch (The), come- 
dietta, 1 act 4 

20. Daddy Gray, drama, 3 acts 8 

4. Daivdelion'.s Dodges, farte, 1 act 4 

22. David I >arri(-k, comedy. 3 acts 8 

96. Dearest Mainina, coiiiedietta, 1 act, 4 

16. Dealer than Life, drama, 3 acts 6 

58. Deborah (Leah) drama, 3 acts 7 

125. Deorfoot, farce. 1 act 5 

71. Doing for the Best, drama, 2 acts.. 5 
l'"2. Dollars and Cents, comedy, 3 acts.. 9 



F. 


No. 


3 


21. 


3 


186. 


3 


47. 


2 


13.. 


3 


21X). 


3 


103. 


1 


9. 


2 




3 


128. 


3 


101. 


3 


99. 


5 


14.5. 


6 


102. 


1 


88. 


2 


74. 


8 


53. 


2 


73. 


3 


30. 


1 




5 


131. 




28. 


5 


151. 


3 


8. 


5 


180. 


3 


19. 


2 


60. 


7 


187. 


1 


174. 


1 


64. 


1 


190. 


1 


191. 




197. 


1 


18. 


4 






116. 










4 


129. 


2 


1.59. 


3 


122. 


3 


177. 


5 


1O0. 


6 


139. 


1 


17. 


3 


86. 


4 


72. 



Dreams, drama, 5 acts 6 

Duchess de la Valliere, play, 5 acts. . 6 

Kasy Shaving, farce, 1 act 5 

Everybody's Friend, comedy, 3 acts. 6 

Estranged, an operetta, 1 act 2 

Faust and Marguerite, drama, 3 acts, 9 
Fearful Tragedy in the Seven Dials, 

interlude, 1 act 4 

Female Detective, drama, 3 acts.... 11 

Fernande, drama, 3 acts 11 

Fifth Wheel, comedy, 3 acts 10 

First Love, comedy, 1 act 4 

Foiled, drama. 4 acts . . 9 

Founded on Facts, farce, 1 act. . . . 4 

Garrick Fever, farce, 1 act 7 

Gertrude's Money Box, farce, 1 act. 4 
Golden Fetter (Fettered), drama, 3 11 
Goose with the Golden Eggs, farce, 

1 act 5 

Go to Putney, farce, 1 act 4 

Happy Pair, comedietta, 1 act 1 

Hard Case (A), farce, 1 act 2 

Henry Dunbar, drama, 4 acts 10 

Heniy the Fifth, historical play, 5 38 

He's a Lunatic, farce, 1 act 3 

Hidden Hand, drama, 4 acts 5 

His Own Enemy, farce, 1 act 4 

Home, comedy, 3 acts 4 

Household Fairy, sketch, 1 act 1 

Hunting the Slipper, farce, 1 act 4 

High C, comedietta, 1 act 4 

Hunchback (The), play, 5 acts 14 

If I Had a Thousand a Year, farce, 

1 act 4 

I'm Not Mesilf at All, original Irish 

stew, 1 act 3 

In for a Holiday, farce, 1 act 2 

In the Wrong House, farce, 1 act. . . 4 

Isabella Orsiiii, drama, 4 acts 11 

I Shall Invite the Major, comedy, 1 4 

Jack Long, drama, 2 acts 9 

Joy is Dangerous, comedy, 2 acts. . . 3 

Kind to a Fault, comedy, 2 acts 6 

Lady of Lyons, play, 5 acts 12 

Lame Excuse, farce, 1 act 4 



fSW oPBClAL NOTICE.— The Play of Clouds is duly protected by copyright 
and managers and stars are hereby warned against permitting its production with- 
out the permissioQ of the author, Fred Marsden. 

CLOUDS. 

%n #ngmal ^^meriratt Com^bg', 

m FOUR ACTS. 

BY FRED. MARSDEN, 

(VV. A. i-LIVEK.) 

AtuJior of "Alma; or. Held in Bondage" " JVe.mesis ; or. Sunshine and Shadow," 
" Zip," "in the Toils," " Trumps," " Silver Star," etc. 



AS FIRST PERFORMED AT MR. A. R. SAMUELL'S NEW PARK THEA- 
TRE, BROOKLYN, UNDER THE MANAGEMENT OF MR. 
THOS. E. MORRIS, SEPT. lo, 1873. 



_^UTH0R'S pDITION. 



TO WHICH ARE ADDED, 



A DBSCKIPTION OF THK COSTPMES — CAST OF THE CHARACTEBS — EN- 
TRANCES AND EXITS RELATIVE POSITIONS OF THE PER- 
FORMERS ON THE STAGB, AND THE WHOLE 
OF THE STAGB BUSINESS. 



ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 



NEW YOKE: 
ROBERT M. DE WITT, PUBLISHER, 

No. 33 Rose Street. 

Snteied according to Act. of Congress, in the year 1873, by W. A. Slivee, in the 
ofilc« of the Librarian of Congress, at AVashmgton, T). C. 



^i»:c. 



3\*2> 



ORIGINAL CAST. 



A. R. Samuell's Nf.w Park ThrMire, 

Brooklyn,S>-pl. 15, 1873. 

T. E. MoRius, Manager. 

Hon. "Walter Randall (an Ex-member of Congress) Mr. T. J. Hind. 

Balph Randall (a Young New Yorker who has been to 

Paris) ^Ir. W. E. Sheridan. 

■William Wimberly (a Gentleman from Chicago) Mr. M. Lanao.^n. 

Fred Town (a Gentleman of Family on the confines of 

Bohemia) Mr. John W. Norton. 

Dr. Edward Lane (an JEsoulapian on the sands of Jer- 
sey) Mr. J. C. DoNN. 

Mr. Billy Buddies (an Honest Man) Mr. M. W. Fiske. 

Mr. Albery Sedley (a Member of the Y. M. C. A.) Mr. Uwen Maulowe. 

Robert (a Servant) Mr. John P. Cook, Jr. 

Stella Gordon (under a cloud) Miss Is.^bel Frebman. 

Cora Adair (who despises the past but utilizes the 

present) Miss Helen Thacy. 

Ella Randall (a New York Belle with a tendency to 

"gush ") Miss Katie Mayhfw. 

Eola Wimberly (a Prarie Flower, innocent and young).. Miss Gekaldinb Stuakt. 

Miss Matilda Prim (a .Jersey Maiden with a veneration 

for "Dorcas") Mrs. E. M. Post. 

Mrs. Malvernon (who sympathizes with youthful loves). Mrs. C. M. Walcot, Sen. 

Martha (an American Help) 



I^" SPECIAL NOTICE.— The Play of Clouds is duly protected by copyright, 
and managers and stars are hereby warned against permitting its production with- 
out the permission of the author, Feed Marsdkn. 



SCENERY. 

ACT 1. — Light landscape backing. Set handsome cottage, l. h. Porch to tho 





; Light LanJ^oape Backing. 




: Fence. Large Gate. 

1 1 


Fence. ; 






; . Flower-beds. .Carriage . 
: Fence.. . Road. . 
; . -;;;• Statue. 


: Small Gate. 




: • «- Statue. ' . 




: • Porch ^ 
; • ^^^S. Grass Mound. • • 
: Fence.* f J Vase.-;;;* • 




: • • • Steps.".' • 

: • Rustic Bench. • • 


Cottage. ; 


: • Vase.-:; 
: Fence- Rustic Table. 


• 


: . : : *Chair. 


: 




Flower-bed. : 


Q»FT 




EST. OF J H. CORNING 




JUNE 20. 1940 





CLOtTDS. O 

^~ return covered with vines ; vase of flowers r. and l. of porch steps. Run fence 

^ oblique from r. 1 G., up, and return off l. Sniiill gate k. ; carriage gate c. llouud 

^^ mound c, covered with grass, and on top a statue or fountiiiu; rustic table and 
chair r. c. ; rustic bench at mound, c. Flower-beds as in diagram. Canary bird in 

' — cage, hanging in porch. Garden cloth down, with carriage road leading off behind 

V.S house. Set wing.i, oblique. Foliage borders. Statue or vase each side of gate, r. 

. ACT II. — Hudson river drop in 5. Set waters cross 4. Eow boat, tied, c. ; bank 

^ : : 

^ ; Hudson River Drop. 

^ : : 

^ ; Set Waters. ; 



Boat. 



Ground-piece. ; : : : Ground-piece. 

Bank. Boat-house. 

Tree. Tree, Tree. 





; Rustic 

: : • • : #Chair 

: Table. 


Iron Chair. ; 






• Rustic Seat. 




; Hammock ; 


; Rustic ; 
: Bench. : 



near boat ; boat-house l. c. ; tree r. h., with rustic table and chair : rustic seat be- 
low table, R. H. ; two trees l. h., with a hammock swung between them ; iron chair 
at head of the hammock ; rustic bench at foot of hammock, l. h. Green baize 
down. Foliage borders ; wood wings, oblique. Statues, bronze deer, etc. 
ACT III. — Elegant drawing-room. Carpet down. Box set. Large window. 







Hudson River Drop. : 


Window. f 


Busts 


* SC- Busts. • : 




: Piano. : 


• ': • ! 




* # 
Stools. 
Zi Chair. 


Whatnot. • ; 
Easel.- • • : 




Arm-chair. 


Spanish Chair. — : 
Sf Door. : 


• Door. 




Ottoman. ' ; : 

O •: i 




Table and Chairs. 


Sofa. : : 


. 




; • .. 


.'..1 


Fireplace, j : 
Arm-chair.;.':- • : 


: : S 


^Chair. 



4 CLOUBS. 

opening on park, c, backed by Hudson river drop, Doora r. and l. Ceiling to 
loom, with chandelier, not lighted. Handsome desk r. h. ; table and chairs r. c. ; 
large ottoman, ornamented with statue, in c. ; piano and two stools, up it. h. corner ; 
busts and pedestals b. and l» of window ; handsoiae whatnot, up l. jj. corner. ; 
easel below it, with handsome painting or portfolio of engravings; rich sofa, l. h., 
near tire ; arm-chair below fire ; fireplace, down i.. h.,, with grate fire burning ; 
handsome mirror over mantel ; Spanish chair ap l. c. ; arm-chair up n. c. ; paintings 
on wall ; large curtains to window ; shovel and poker at fire ; gong bell on table, b. 
ACT /F.— Same *s,Act. 111. 



SYNOPSIS. 

^Cr A— Clouds on the Horizon. Scene. —Qat^on Cottage, Eatentown, N. J, 
Tableau.— X Mother, hut no Wife. 

ACT II, — Watching m the Shadow. .Sterae.— Park of Mr. Bandall's Villa on the 
Hudson. Tableau.— A. Strange Proposal. 

ACT III.— A Break iu the Mists. .Scene. — ^Drawing-rown in Bandall's House, 
Tableau. — The Betrayer and Betrayed. 

ACT /Fj— The Silver Lining. &c>?f.— Randall's Villa. TaWeaM.— Be-nnited 
Hearts. 



PROPERTIES {See Scenery.) 

Jet I. — Garden eloth down, "Written letter (No. 1) lor Fred Towk, and cigar and 
matches, in case ; double-barrel shotgun, game-bag, shot-pouch and powder-flask, 
for Kalpb ; dog, lor Servant ; handsome work-basket, for Martha ; glass of 
wine (blackberry) ready in house, for Stella ; written letter (JNo 2>for Ralph, 
Act II.: Baize down. Cigar-case, with cigar and matches, for Wimberly ; book 
and blank letter with stamp »ii, lor Ella ,- boat oars in boat-house; handsome 
ladies' writing-desk aztd material.s, for Servant to carry on. Acl III. : Car- 
pet down. See paper, pens, ink, envelopes, in desk, r., also account books, 
folded papers, and check-boolc ^pm-licalar) ; music-book on piano ; handsome 
books on table, i!,r large pocket book, for Sedley, containing a folded blank 
letter, in envolopi; ; canl photograph, for Eola ; rent receipt book, for Bcddles ; 
writter letter (No. 3), for Ella ; blank letter, no stamp, for Cora. Ael 1 V. z 
Carpet down. See gong' bell on table, b. ; Skein of Berlin wool, for Eola : 
newspaper for "Wimbehly, with virillen paragraph ; package of old letters, ti' d 
with white ribbon, neatly, for Eli.a, iil.-^o a package tfed roughly with enmrain 
string; written letter (No. 4), for Ei.la ; blank letter, no stai»p, for ^YALTEl^ 
Randall; small inlaid siiufl'-box, to-r Fred; old, faded stiairii^ge certiteeate, 
for Stella, 



STAGE DIRECTIONS. 

R. means Rigbt of Stage, facing the Audience ; L. Left ; C. Centre ; E. C. Eight 
of Centre ; L. C. Lett of Centre. I>. F. Door in the Flat, or Scene ruaning across 
the back of the Stau'e ; C. D. F. Centre Door iu the Flat ; R. D. F. Eight Door in 
tlie Flat; L. C. F. Left tXior in the Flat ; U. D. Right Door ; L. D. Left Door ; 1 B 
First Entrance ; 2 E. Second Entrance ; U. E. Upper Entrance ; I, 2 or 3 G. First 
Second or Third Groove. 

E. R. C. C. R. C. L. 

!^~ The reader is suppoaed to be upon the stage facing the audieoco. 
IFor Synopsis of the I'iaif, see pages 62, 63 and 61.} 



B^" SPECIAL NOTICE.— Tbe Play of Clotjds is duly protected by copyright, 
and managers and stars are hereby warned against jiermitting its production with 
«ut the permission of the author, Tred Maksden. 



CLOUDS. 



ACT I. 

SCENE. — Cottage amd grounds, Eatoifown, N". J. Martha discovered on 
steps, fixing bouquet, 

Martha. There, now, I think that is just as sweet as can be — a rose, 
a lovely white bud, a dash of marguerite, a sprig of geranium, and 
some lake lilies. Oh, how I love flowers ! 

Enter Mi,s.fi Pkim, gate, e. 

How nice they look — just as pretty as a picture. I'm proud of this ; 
what's the good of being a woman if you caii't make a pretty boiiuiufit \ 

Pkim (r. c, sharply). Martha ! 

Mar. {starts i)ioleMy). Oh, my! 

Prim. What's the matter .' 

Mar. Good gracious, Miss Prim, yoii gave me such a shock. 

Pkim {sits k). Did 1 1 Pity you're so nervous, Where's your mis- 
tress ■? 

Mae. Gone out. {rises.) 

Prim Wliere tol 

Mar. Don't know, ma'ara. (^w?& aifiowers.) 

PjtiM. When will she be back? 

Mar. Don't know, ma'am. 

Prim. Where's your master 1 

Mar. Don't know, ma'am. 

Prim. Gone away again, I suppose? 

Mar. Don't know, ma'am, {fixes flotvers in vase, v.) 

Prim. Do you know anything, young woman 1 

Mar. Yes, ma'am. 

Prim. And what's that 1 

Mas. {going up). I know how to mind my own business, ma'am. 

Enter De. Lane, gate, R. 

Prim. And one thing more — you know how to be impertinent. 
Dr. Lane {comes c). Well, Martha my girl, good day. Ah, Miss 
Prim, your most obedient, {raises hat.) 
Priv (sharply). Good day, doctor. 

Dr. L. You're looking quite yourself again. Eheumatism gone? 
Pbim. Never had the rheumatism. 



b CLOUDS. 

Dr. L. No 1 Bless me, I thought I heard so. 

Prim. I was affected with a pain in ray limb, and I consulted Dr. 
Pillby, a member of the church and a reliable physician. 

Dr. L. Yes — and what did old Pill say ■* 

PiiiM. Br. Pillbi/ said that the pain arose from a slight contraction of 
the ligaments of the limb, caused by a sympathetic affinity with the 
mental activity of my brain. 

Dr. L. {laughing). Well, bless me, that's the most polite diagnosis I 
ever heard. Egad, I'll take lessons from my fashionable rival, and when 
I wish to speak of rheumatism again, I'll call it muscular contraction 
mentally accelerated. But come, this isn't business. Martha, how's 
my patient? 

Mar. Nicely, doctor : he pulled my hair quite natural this morning. 

Dn. L. That's a good sign. Where's your mistress ] 

Mar. Gone out, sir. 

Di!. L. {going l.). That's a better sign ; no doubt of his improvement 
now. Miss Prim, excuse me. {aside) Bless me, to think I came near 
marrying that woman once — ugh ! [Exit in house. 

Pkim (rises). Martha, I can't wait here all day. Tell your mistress I 
called. I thought I'd be sure to fitid her home, as her child was sick. 

Mak. (up c). She is coming now, ma'am. 

Music. Stella runs on, gate, k. 

Stklla. Well, Martha, here I am; did you think I'd run off for 

Oh, Miss Prim, is that you 1 I'm so glad to see you. How are you 1 
[kisses her) I've just been having a good run ; I've not been out before 
since baby was taken sick. But come in the house. 

Prim [stifflg). No, thiink you; Dr. Lane's there. 

Stel. And you don't like him, do you? Well, sit down and we'll 
talk out here. I'm in such spirits this morning. Baby s so much bet- 
ter here, Martha, take in my things — he was very sick, you know. 
^ Martha takes things in.) 

Pkim {sits r.j. Yes; Mrs. Stubbs thought you'd lose him. He's not 
a healthy child. 

Stel. He is rather delicate, but the doctor says he will be all right — 
the little darling. I'm so glad you came over. How's the rheumatism 1 
{sits on seat, c.) 

Prim. 1 wish you wouldn't talk like that. I'm not an old woman, to 
be down with rheumatism. Dr. Pillby assured me it was nothing of the 
kind. 

Stel. I meant no offence ; it's only mj' careless way of speaking. 
You know how giddy 1 am. 

Prim. Yes, I do, moi e's the pity ; you're too fond of the world. 

Stel. We are all fond of it. Miss Prim, when we are happy. I'm 
just at the age, you know, when 1 can see beauty in everything. The 
chirping birds, the budding flowers, the rippling waters, all give me 
pleasure. I've nothing to be ashamed of in my i)ast, and I'm contented 
in the present, and hoi)eful for the future. I like the world because I 
like to live. Ah, there's no sin in being happy! 

Pkim. That's what I call gush, and I've no sympathy with it. I've 
come to tell you I'm going away. 

Stel. Going away ! 

Prim. Yes. My married sister has been worrying my life out to come 
and see her, and I'm coing. 

Stel. She lives in New York city, doesn't she] 

Pkim. If she did I'd never go near her while I had good sense. 



ACT I. t 

Thank goodness, she lives up the Hudson, and not in such a sink of in- 
iquity as New York. 

Stel. But you will have to go through the city. 

Prim. Yes, but I'll ride through in a carriage, with the blinds down 
and a prayer-book in my hand. As I said to our minister last Sunday, 
don't talk to me about foreign missions ; send your missionaries to New 
York; it will be more beneficial and less expensive. 

Stel. {smiling). Will you be gone longi 

Prim. I hope not; but while I am away I want you to take my place 
in the Dorcas Society. 

Stel. I'm not a member. 

Prim. I know you're not ; but you can join, 1 suppose. 

Stel. Really, Miss Prim, you must excuse me. 

Prim. Excuse you 1 

Stkl. Yes; I don't like Dorcas societies. 

Prim. Indeed. Why not 1 

Stel. Because the members drink too much ^ea and talk too much 
scandal. 

PitiM. Thank you; I know where that comes from. 

Stel. It comes from an earnest conviction, Miss Prim. I am willing 
to assist you in all your charities ; I will do any work you may assign 
me ; but I simply request the privilege of doing it at home. 

Prim. Just what I expected. That husband of yours laughs at us, 
and is making you just as bad as he is. I'm sorry you let that worldly, 
careless man 

Stel. {rises). Your pardon. Miss Prim ; you are speaking of my hus- 
band. 

Prim. There, don't fly off; now that we're on the subject, I mean to 
do my duty and give you some advice. 

Stel. [pulh Jlowers in vase, l.). If what you have to say concerns my 
husband, I would prefer not to hear it. 

Prim {rises). Well, it does concern him. Do you know people here 
are commencias to talk about Mr. Gordon 1 

Stel. Indeed 1 Has Dorcas had him under consideration! 

Prim. Every one is wondering what sort of business he can have in 
New York, when he never goes there but he stays several weeks, and 
never comes back but he remains a month. 

Stel. And the good people here are making his movements the sub- 
ject of their earnest inquiries? 

Pkim. Old Farmer Wells was in York some weeks ago, and he heard 
a man speak to your husband. 

Stfl. Indeed ! 

Prim. And he called him by a different name than he is known by 
here. 

Stel. (slight start). A different namel What was it. 

Pkim. Old Wells don't remember; but he knows it wasn't Gordon. 
The farmer thinks, as he has another name in York, he may be one of 
them lottery chaps, or in 

Stel. {turns). That will do, Miss Prim. You are at liberty to specu- 
late upon my husband's actions as much as you please, but I will feel 
obliged if you will not express your opinions to his wife, {crosses, r.) 

Prim (l. c). Now don't be impulsive. A conscientious desire to do 
my duty 

Stel. (r). There, Miss Prim, pray don't speak of duty. It is no 
one's duty to cast a shadow between a husband :ind his wife. It is this 
kind whispering of friends that often raises the first oloud between a 



8 CLOUDS. 

happy couple, and has made of many lives a wreck that might have 
been a blessing. 

Prim. Gracious, my dear ! I don't want to make any trouble. I 
wouldn't do that foi the world. I only wi.sli to warn 

Stel. Pray say no more. Let us drop the subject. It's not interest- 
ing, and might become unpleasant, (sits, r.) 

Fred Town stuff s outside. 



In life I own it's very true 

Our joys are mixed with sorrow ; 
But keep a stout heart in your breast 

And never heed the morrow, 
lour pockets may be empty, bv*. 

A crust of bread's enough 
To keep your legs in motion when 

They're made of the right stuff. 

Fred (^appears c). I beg your pardon, but in the rural simplicity of 
this Arcadian retreat resides there a gentleman calling himself Gordon ? 

Stel. {rises). Yes, sir; this is his home. 

Fred. Then I am ri^lit, and may venture to enter. 

Prim. A friena of your husband — I'll go. (kisses Stella; goes up, 
meeting Fred, who has entend a large gate, l. c.) 

Fred {raises hat). Have I the honor of addressing the sylvan goddess 
of this domestic Hesperides ? 

Prim {sharply). Are you speaking to me ] 

Fred. I have that honor. 

Prim. Then speak English. 

Fred. I will — is Mr. Gordon at home? 

Prim There's his wife — ask her. Good day. [Exit, gate, B. 

Yrkd {raises hat). Yours truly, {aside) If Xantippe was not dead, I'd 
think she'd left Greece and settled in New Jersey. 

Stel My husband went out this morning for some shooting. Have 
you any urgent busmess with him "? 

Feed [down l. c.}. Oil, no, nothing particular, {asidt) By Jove, I 
can't tell her ! {al'iid) The fact is, I was just passing, and dropped in, 
somethina on the Paul Pry order. 

Stel. Who was he — a preacher * 

Fred. Well, yes, in his way. He taught somewhat on the negative 
principle — illustrated the beauties oi minding youi own business by 
contrast. 

Stel. Which implies 

FuED. That Paul Pry, by always interfering in other people's busi- 
ness, taught them the advantage of minding their own. 

Stel Then, as you comp. re yourself to Paul Pry, you must be here 
on our business and not your own. 

Fred, {aside). Thhts neat, {aioud) I came, my dear madam, to see 
Mr. Goidon, and have lingered too long. The charming beauty of this 
rural pictnie captivated me — a picture completed by the presence of « 
perfect object 

Stel. Ai d thai is 

I I! ED {ratie. hat) Youiself ! 

Stel Thank you ; but tiie charming simplicity of the rural scene is, 
1 think marred by one flaw. 



ACT I, ^ 9 

Fked. And that is 

Stel. The presence of a flatterer. 

Fred {aside). Egad ! that's clever, i^ahud) I cry you mercy, madam. 
I have a great admiration for your sex, but a wholesome dread of the 
one weapon nature has supplied them with — the tongue. 

Stel {crosses, l.). Pardon me; we are wandering from the point. 
While waiting for Mi, Gordon, step in the house and let me offer you 
some refreshment. 

Fred. No, thank you. {aside) I feel too much like a spy to eat at her 
table, {(dtrnd) I'll just stroll around and smoke a cigar, and drop in 
again when Mr. Gordon returns. 

Stel, May 1 know, then, who has honored us 1 

Fred. The honor is all on my side. I am simply a poor artist— a 
restless Bohemian. I see, admire, and reproduce, I know nothing of 
theory, ignore the romantic, live in !in atmosphere of paints and brushes, 
and sacrifice high art to the vulgar accumulation of dollars and cents. 
The confession is sad*but true, and so au rd-oir, {gmng.) 

Stel. Do yon decline to leave your namel 

Fred {setiovdy). Should fate evei throw us together when you may 
stand in need of the stout heart and strong arm of a friend, I will tell 
you all. Till then, adieu. [Bows and exits, gate-, ii. 

Enter Dr. Lane, from house. 

Dr. Lane {on steps). Hoity toity ! what's all this '? 

Stel. {turns, seen him). Why, my dear old friend, I forgot you were 
here. I've just had a visitor from the land of Bohemia, and he was 
quite interesting. 

Dr. L. {coining down l. c). Humph ! Bohemia is a subject to be let 
alone by the wife of a well-to-do young man. Who was that dandy? 

Stel. He's an artist, and wanted me to sit for Venus. I refused, but 
ofifered to let him take a portrait oi my bald-headed parrot. He got 
muffed, and departed with the prophetic warning, '' We will meet again 
at Pbillipi! " 

Dr. L. What are you going to Philllpi for 1 

Stel. My dear old ^sculapian, don't be stupid. I wished him to 
leave his name, but he refused and with the solemn accents of Hamlet's 
venei'able papa, declared : '* Should fate throw us together again I will 
tell you all .; till then, adieu." So saying, he vanished. 

Dr. L. Let me feel your pulse. 

Stel. (latiijhmg). The impulse is vpon me to repulse you; but I con- 
sidei youi age and so proceed 

Dr. L. {tnke. hei wrist). Humph ! slightlj'^ accelerated. You've got a 
little too much oxvgen in the nervou-i system. A flow of spirits now — 
look out for the reaction. 

Stel. Yes, that's the formula; I know it. Hold the wrist, count the 
pulse, roll up the eyes, look wise, say something no one can understand, 
pocket a fee, and leave Dame Nature to effect a cure. 

Dr. L. Bab ! you trifle with seiious things. What would people do 
if there were no doctors ? 

Stel. Adam and Eve got along well enough without one 

Dr. L. Nonsense ! If Mother Eve had possessed a good family phy- 
sician, it would have been much better for mankind. 

Stel. How so? 

Du. L AVhy, the doctors would have told Eve that a green apple was 
indigestible, and she wouldn't have eat it. 

Stel. The doctor would have done no such thing. He would have 



1 CLOUDS. 

allowed Eve to eat the apple, so that if she got a colic he might get a 
lee. 

Dr. L. Tut, tut ! you jest on serious matters. 

Stel. I was only carrying out your ideas. But there, I won't tease 
you, for you are a darlin<T. 

Dk. L. Ah, that's something like ! When you state truisms, I'm si- 
lent. 

Stel. I'll never forget you, my old friend, for to your care I owe my 
boy. His life was hanging by a thread ; 1 knew it, and though I 
seemed calm, there was a seething volcano in my breast that nearly 
choked me. When I looked upon his sunken eye and hollow cheek, I 
could not weep— my grief could not find relief in tears ; but when from 
the very brink of the grave you snatched him back to health and life, 
oh' it seemed as though the very excess of my joy caused pain. My 
soul was too full for thanks, but since that day, in my evening prayers 
for my boy. I have always breathed your name. 

Dk. L. {tries to hide emotion). Hem ! Let mc feel your pulse. The re- 
action is about to set in ; go in the house and be quiet. 

Stel. I will ; but don't go yet ; I want you to have a nice glass of 
my home-made wine ; I know you like that, {crosses, l ) I won't be long. 
I'm going to get you some of the old blackberry, and that's an honor ; 
I only give it to my very best friends. [£xit in house. 

Dr. L. (l. c). That is a solid, substantial, good woman. A true wife 
and a loving mother deserves an honorable and upriiiht man. I fear 
she has not got one. He is rich, without doubt; but no one can tell 
where his money comes from. Confound him, he's too secret to please 
me. I don't know why it is 1 dislike the fellow ; his heart may be in 
the right place, but, damme, I'd like to feel his pulse. 

RALPiH Randall enters gate, e., with gun, etc. ; his servant passes behind 
fence, leading a dog, and entering at carriage yate, l. c, exits behind 
house. 

Ralph. Ah, doctor, you here? How are you — well 1 

Dr. L. Of course. Did you ever know me to be ill 1 

Ralph {places gun on table, r.). Never take any medicine, I suppose 1 

Dk. L No, sir. 

Ralph Tliat accounts for it. {sits at table, k.) 

Dk. L. Did you have much luck V 

Ralph {m reverte). Nolhiuii to speak of. How's the boy ? 

Dr. L. On tho sure road to recovery. 

Ralph. No clanger of a i elapse 'i 

Dk. L. Not the slightest. 

Ralph. Thank Heaven for thai ; there's some comfort left me, any- 
how. 

Dr. L. You don't seem in good spirits. 

Ralph. Think so ? 

Dr. L. Yes. Perhaps you're not feeling well? 

Ralph. Perhaps not. 

Dr. L. 1 maybe able to help you; your nervous system appears 
shaken Hem ! let me feel your pulse 

Ralph. ThauK you, Iiu not ill ; when I am I'll let you know. 

Dr. Lane retreats, l., Stella re-enters, followed bg Martha with hand- 
some uork-basket. 

Stella {gives glass of wine). There, doctor, drink that, and if you 



ACT I. 11 

don't say - {sees Ralph, crosses, r.) Why, Ralph, when did you come 1 
I didn't look for you for hours yet. How good of you to come so soon. 
There's nothing the matter, is there ? 

Ralph. No — all the faiilt of the birds. They wouldn't come and be 
shot, so I thought I miglit as well come home. 

Maiitha (oh steps). Do you want your basket now, ma'am. 

Stel. Yes, put it on the table. How's the wine, doctor 1 (Martha 
places basket on table, timidly ; seems afraid of gun there. ) 

Dr. L. {starts from ivatching Ralph). Splendid ! {drinks hurriedly.) 

Ralph. If you'd take more time you'd find it more agreeable, {risrs, 
saunters tip C.) 

Dr. L. That's true; there's a great many things done too hastily. But, 
egad ! I must be off. {crosses r., puts glass on table) If all my visits were 
this long my yearly income would not be encouraging. Good-bye, rose- 
bud, take care of the nerves, {aside, going') If that man don't give her a 
heartache yet, I'll never feel another pulse as long as 1 live ! 

[Exit, gate, r. 

Mak. (behind table). Anything else, ma'am? 

Stel. No, thank you ; you can go. 

Ralph, {comes c). Take my gun in. 

Mar. {nervously). The — the gun, sirl 

Ralph. Yes , take it in the house, {sits at mound, c.) 

Mar. I — I beg pardon, sir, but is — is it loaded 1 

Ralph. Yes, but it can't hurt you ; it has no cap on. 

Mar. Yes, but sometimes they go off bareheaded. 

Ralph. Oh, come, come, take it in and don't talk. 

Mab. Yes, sir. [JSxit with it, very nervously, in Jwuse. 

Stel. {comes to Ralph). You tease, what did you make her do that 
for "? you know how timid she is. But there, I won't scold you : you've 
come home like a good boy, and you shall do just as you like, {sits l. of 
him.) " 

Ralph {yawns). What have you been doing all day 1 

Stel. I've been out — the first time since Willie was taken sick, you 
know — and I've had such a run. I went to the store first, to see if I 
could get some lace to match that you brought me ; you know how 
afraid I was I couldn't get itl Well. Mr. Mortimer had just the thing. 
I saw old Lawyer Bradshaw there; he's coming over to-morrow evening 
to play chess with you. 

Ralph. Much obliged to him. 

Stel. Then I went to Mother Grade's — she was so glad to see me ; 
and I left her some tea and some sugar, and a ham and potatoes, and — 
don't laugh — some tobaccy for her pipe. 

Ralph. Wonderful. 

Stel. Then I came home and found the doctor here, and Willie bet- 
ter, and I was in such spirits that the dear old roan was frightened, and 
said it was nervous lorce, and would be followed by depressed spirits. 
You know he always thinks joy is followed by sadness. 

Ralph. 1 suppose he frightened you 1 

Stel. No, he didn't. I can never be sad while I have you and my 
boy. 

Ralph. Then I have made you happy 1 

Stel. Happy ] Why, Ralph, you have made my life so complete that 
I almost forget I was once a poor girl. I'm woman enough to like good 
clothes, and the people here are quite horrified at the way I dress ; they 
say they never saw such goings on until we came. But I don't care 
what they think or say. I dress to please you ; 1 want to keep on pleas- 



12 CLOCTDS. 

ing you, Ralph — to make you love me more and more ; for your love is 
my happiness. 

Ralph. This happiness is so complete, then, I suppose a sudden grief 
would kill you 1 ^ 

Stel. I don't know — I don't like to think of that. If it concerned 
only me I might sink under it ; but if it concerned those very dear to 
me I think I could meet the worst trouble face to face. But why do 
you ask 1 

Ralph. No reason — only a passing thought. 

Stel. {looks at him intently). Ralph ! 

Ralph. Yes. 

Stel. What's the matter 1 

Ralph. Nothing. 

Stel. Then why don't you sit natural ? 

Ralph. I was thinking. There ! {puts arm around her.) 

Stkl. I know a time when you didn't have to be told to do that. 

Ralph. Oh, well, a fellow don't feel like courting after he's once mar- 
ried — a woman oughtn't to expect it. 

Stel. Why not 1 Is the wife less worthy of attention than the mai- 
den ] A husband who really values his happiness should never let the 
fact of possession weaken his sense of what is due to the woman he has 
won. A man's conduct after marriage should at least be commensurate 
with his fervor before. 

Ralph. That's nonsense! A fellow has to make so many vows to 
get a girl, that he deserves a little rest when she is won. 

Stel. Yes, but they don't rest in the right way. They reserve their 
excessive courtesy for the ladies of society, and their wives have to re- 
ceive the benefit of their resting at home. 

Ralph. Have I ever troubled you by attentions to other women ? 

Stel. Well, you're away so much. You go to New York for weeks 
at a time, and 1 don't know what you do then. 

Ralph. This is a new phase in your character, Stella ; 1 thought you 
above jealous}', {removes arm.) 

Stel. There, sit still. I was only teasing you, Ralph. I love you, 
and I could not love if I could not trust. I believe in you so fully that 
I will not believe a word against you. 

Ralph. Some one has been talking, then? 

Stkl. Miss Prim was here. 

Ralph. With her usual budget of news 1 

Stel. She is going away. 

Ralph. Thank Heaven I If she leaves the st ite there may be some 
hope for New Jersey, after all? 

Stel. She had news about you this time. 

Ralph. Indeed! What was it — thnt I am a spendthrift, or that I 
don't go to church twice on Sundays 1 

Stel. {laughing). Oh, no, it wasn't that. 1 really don't know what it 
was — I refused to listen to her. It was something about your business 
in New York. She said you have a different name there from what you 
iiave here. 

Ralph [aside). The inquisitive old has ! {rises, crosses, l.) 

Stel. (rises). It's not true, Ralph, is ill 

Ralph. True 7 What name did she mention 1 

Stel. None; the farmer who told her couldn't remember. She said 
you must be in a secret business. I would not listen to her, but I did 
not know how to defend you. I don't know what your business is my- 
self. You stay here for weeks, then go away for a long time, and re- 



ACT I. 13 

turn with plenty of money. I don't want you to be angry, Ralph, but 
I've often wished you'd take me a little more into your confidence. 

Ralph {takes her hand). Don't let us renew old subjects, Stella. I 
have told you there were some things in my life must remain secret. 

Stel. {sadly). Yes. 

Ralph. The business that takes me to New York is part of that se- 
cret, and I must request that you will not seek to penetrate it. "When 
the time comes Hush ! there's some one coming up the walk, {crosses 

C, looks 11.) 

Stel. Who is it? 

Ralph (starts). Great heavens! 

Stel. What's the matter ? 

Feed Town appears at gate, r. 

Ral-ph. Nothing; go in — I'll tell you when he's gone. 

Fked. Mr. Gordon, I believe 1 

Ralph {coldly). Excuse me a moment, sir. Come, Stella, this gentle- 
man and I have business. I must ask you to go in the house, {leads her 
to steps.) 

Stel. It's no trouble, Ralph ? 

Ralph. No, no — don't fret. 

Stel. {aside, on steps). There's something wrong — I'm sure of it. 
[Exit in house. Ralph watche.i her off, then turns <o-Fbed, who toys with 
work-basket on table. 

Ralph (c). Well, sir, how am I to regard you — as a spy or as a 
friend 1 

Fred [at table, u.). As neither. I could not descend to the role of a 
spy, and will no longer pretend to be your friend. 

Ralph. In what character, then, do you pay this visit"? 

Fred. Simply thai of ambassador. 

Ralph. And what power sends so dignified a messenger 1 

Fred. Your father! 

Ralph (starts). My father ! then he knows 

Fred. All ! (Ralph sinks in seat, ) I didn't want to do this thing ; 
it looks like meddling ; but 

Ralph. There, don't trouble yourself to apologize. You have been 
sent here by my father. Now, how did he know I had a place here 1 

Fred. I didn't know; 1 had not the slightest suspicion of it until he 
told me. 

Ralph. Is it a part of your mission to conceal what you do know 1 

Fred. No. You have a right to all the explanation in my power. 
Your father sent for me a few days since, and I found him greatly agi- 
tated. He said he had just received a great shock, that he had been 
deceived in you, that you were not, as he thought, simply idling your 
time in New York, but supporting a country place upon his money, and 
acting the part of a vile, mean and base 

Ralph (rises). There, sir; spare your adjectives, {crosses, u.) 

Fred. They are your father's — not mine. 

Ralph {sits r.). As his agent I presume j'ou endorse them 1 

Fred. I am his agent, as you are pleased to term it, because your 
father is too dear to me for me to refuse him a favor. I came here 
cheerfully, feeling there must be a mistake. I confess there is a mistake, 
but I regret to find I have made it. You are either to be very much 
pitied or very much condemned ; in either case you have fallen from the 
high position in which my imagination placed you. 

Ralph. I believe I am not accountable to you for my actions. 



14 CLOUDS. 

Fred. Every gentleman is accountable to his associates for an ac« 
inconsistent with honor. 

Ralph (rises). Confound you, sir! what have j-ou to do with my 
honor 1 How do you know what I have done, or intend to do 1 Has 
my father commissioned you to insult me, or is this gratuitous ] 

Fred. I have no intention of insulting you. Don't let us quarrel, 
Ralph. As men, don't let us forget we have been playmates. In that 
house there is a woman whom I believe to be too good and pure to 
suffer what I fear is in store for her ; I want you to think of her at any 
cos', and be true to yourself 

Ralph. Spare your comments, please, and confine yourself to busi- 
ness. You^re here as agent, I believe, not as tutor, [crosses, l.) 

Fred. Then, sir, as agent, permit me to place in your hands this let- 
ter, [gives it) In giving you this I execute, to the full extent, your 
father's instructions. In terminating my agency, permit me, sir, to add, 
that I trust this evening may also terminate our acquaintance. 

[Bows coldlj/, exits, gate, B. 

Ralph. That man despises me. I wouldn't let him see how his 
■words affected me, but tiiey went to my heart like a knife. Well, I 
suppose I have no right to complain. The world judges of a man by 
his actions, and never troubles itself about his motives, [turning letter) 
I wonder what the governor has t > say '! He's too fond of playing le 
grande seigneur not to take advantage, of this opportunity of reading me 
a lecture. I suppose it's a long-drawn homily upon morals. I wish I 
could afford to send it back unopened, [suddenly opens letter) Confound 
it! what's the use of speculating — let's know the worst, [rends) "To 
Ralph Randall, calling himself Ralph Gordon. Sir : — The honor of our 
family, which has in you received its first blemish, demands that we 
should have an explanation. When I inform you that I know all, you 
will have sufHcient appreciation of my character to understand the 
consequences to yourself if you do not instantly follow the bearer of 
this missive. As your future very materially depends upon your pre- 
sent actions, I trust that personal considerations will so far influence 
your conduct as to mitigate in some degree, the contempt I experience 
upon being compelled to subscribe myself — your father." {crushes letter) 
Just what I expeted. A cold, stilted, insulting letter; without one 
sign of heart in all its chilling diction. And yet this man wonders that 
I don't love him. Well, I'm not such a fool as Pygmalion to fall in love 
with marble. 

Martha enters from house. 

Martha. Mrs. Gordon is asking for you, sir. 

Ralph (starts). All right; I'm coming — yet stay, Martha. 

Mar. Yes, sir. 

Ralph. Say I'm going into the library a few minutes to write a letter 
— then I'll come to her. 

Mar. Yes, sir. [Uxit in house. 

Ralph. I've got to do it — the sooner the better. It's but one more 
infamy — I wonder if it will be the last 1 

Exit in house. It has been sloivbj coming on night, stage one-third dark. 
BuDDLES enters gate, r., comes down very cautiously. 

BuDDLES. That's the house ; nice and comfortable— least it looks 
comfortable from the outside A pretty cage for a pretty bird. Sen- 
sible girl — feathered her nest well. Hem, I wonder if the male bird's 
around 1 Shouldn't altogether like him to sec me here— he's got such 



ACT L 15 

an uncomforatble temper, and that's unpleasant. If he saw me I could 
ho out of it— I've got so used to that now, it's almost a trouble to tell 
thtr tvtith. What a nice accomplishment that is — to tell a good lie — 
none cf your half and halfers — none of your little white fibs, but a 
good, solid, substantial, unvarnished, downright lie. It's the secret of 
business success. The man who can't tell a good lie is sure to — {starts, 
takes off hfit) I beg pardon ; I just called — (seeing no one) As I'm an honest 
man, I thought some one pinched me. It's strange how uncomfortable 
I feel when I'm on strange ground. If anyone was to see me they 
might think I was prying — that would be a slur on my character. I 
hate pryicg — it's a mean, low, sneaky — (starts) Oh, lor' ! the male bird 
is home. 

Conceals himxelf behind vase, l., as Ralph re-enters from Iwuse, with letter. 
Music, iremulo, pp. 

Ralph, I am trembling, like the coward I am. I never, until this 
moment, felt how utterly low and mean a man may become. Well, I have 
taught myself to expect this ; now I must face it as best I can. What 
Avill she think of me when she reads this 1 Well, I won't think of that. 
There, she'll find you there quick enough (places letter in -work-basket on 
table, R.) What a contrast! The j)retty amusement of her idle hours 
covering the confession of my ignoble life! Well, so be it. The sting 
of the reptile is often covered by the fairest flowers. It is done, and I 
have no longer a place here. I have put the finishing touches to the 
greatest villainy of my life, and now — now I'll go to my father. 

\Exit, gate, r. 

Bud. (comes out eautiouslg). As I'm an honest man, he's a rascal. 
Good — ha ! ha ! — good ! Suppose he'd caught me listening — damme, 
that would have been bad. He's left a letter for her ; he's going away 
— going back to the old man. He must know we're on his track. I 
wonder if he's told all in that letter 1 That won't do — I came here to 
tell that myself. I'll just take charge of that letter — I will, as I'm an 
honest man. (goes to taih', takes letter.) 

Stella appears on steps, 

Stella. What are you doing 1 (Buddles turns, startled, concealing 
letter. ) 

Bud. I beg pardon; I just dropped in, 

Stel. (conies doun, l. c). Another Paul Pry. Well, sir, as it is some- 
what late, and you are a stranger, will you kindly explain your 
business 1 

Bud. I will, ma'am, as T in an honest man. 

Stella. What were you doing when I entered — my presence seemed 
Id f.Mifhtpn you ? 

Bud. Frighten! Oh, no, madam, not frighten. I'm a man. But I 
had a misfortune, madam, in my youtli. When I was a baby the nurse 
dropped me in a bucket of colil water, and I've never got over the 
shock to my nerves, (.isul ) That lie's weak, but it's too late to alter, 

Stel. What made you suirt so wlien I si»oke to you 1 

Bud. My nerves, nuidani. A voice suddenly striking upon my ear 
acts like a galvanic batteiy uiion my nmscles. It s a disease with me, 
ma'am. It's what I call an unnatural activity of the nervous system. 

Stel. Well, sir, is this unnatural activity tne cause of your being 
heie? 

Bud. No, ma'am, I came here to see you. 



16 CLOUDS. 

Stel. To see me ! What for 1 

Bud. (mt/steriousli/). To tell you something you should know. 

Stkl. Don't be so mysterious, jdease. If you have anything to say, 
speak out. You can say notliing that I am either ashamed or afraid to 
hear. 

Bud. (in low voice) . Are you sure 1 

Stel So sur^ tliaL I will instantly give you proof, (turns l.) 

Bud. What are you going to do ? 

Stel. Call my husband that we maj' together listen to your com- 
munication. 

Bud. Stop. It's about him I want to speak. 

Stel. Then is there the greater need of his presence ; to thank you 
if you speak well, to chastise you, if you speak false. 

Bud. He won't thank me, as I'm an honest man; and he can't chas- 
tise me — for he's gone. 

Stel. Gone ! 

Bud. Gone, as I'm an honest man. He knows the storm is coming, 
and he's trying to find shelter. 

Stel. Gone — my husband gone! 

Bud. The man who has 

Stel. Silence ! 

Bud. Yes, but I can prove 

Stel. Silence ! A being like you shall not insult the man I love. 

Bud. Yes, but he is 

Stel. No matter what he is or was. If my husband has been guilty 
of any wrong the knowledge of it shall not come to me first from the 
lips of a spy. 

Bud. Won't you let me speak 1 ' 

Stel. I have but one answer. Go ! (Buddles retreats behind table.) 

Cud. Well, then, if you won't hear me, listen to him. (places letter on 
table. Site takes it.) 

Stel. A letter ! Why, it's Ralph's writing ! 

Bud. He told me to give it to you, but I hated to do it, as I'm an 
honest man. (Fred Town appear at gate, r. Music, pp.) 

Stel. A letter ; and Ralph gone ! It must be that man. Oh, I knew 
he brought bad news, {reads) "My darling: — The spring is past, and 
the dreary waste of winter has come. No frost can ever chill my love, 
but the horizon of which you were the sun is now clouded forever. As 
low as a man can fall I have fallen. My life to you has been a decep- 
tion, and I am now forced to fly. It will be useless to seek me, but, 
though away from you, I will amply provide for your future. How 
vile I have been these words will prove : Our marriage was not legal — 
you are not my wife." (r/asps) " After so much deception, to speak the 
truth seems mockery, and yet my only truth has been, and is— my love. 
Ralph.' (after struggle turns culmlg to Buddles) I have had the courage, 
you see, to read this letter to the end. 

Bud. You believe me now 1 {comes doicn, e.) 

Stel. I beliei^e W\\h letter. You appear to know this man ; who is he 1 

Bud. What do you mean 1 

Stel. I mean the man who called himse'f Rilph Gordon— what is his 
real name 1 

FuED [comes down c). Perhaps I can best answer that question. 

V>vr>. [starts). Wliat! Fied Town ! 

FuED. I told you, madam, should fate throw us together again, that 
I would tell you my name. Fate has now answered your question. 
( points to Buddles.) 

Stel. Fred Town ? 



ACT ir. 17 

Fred. Yes, madam, Fred Town, who has never yet had canse to blush 
for his hame, and who now, as a gentleman, appreciating your distress, 
begs you to accept his friendship. 

Stel. Answer me one question — you must know all — who is Ralph 
Gordon 1 

Fked. The man who called himself Ralph Gordon is Ralph Randall, 
son of Walter Randall, of New York. 

Stel. {unnaturally calm). Thank you — good night ! {going l., staggers.) 

Fred. You are ill ! {starts towards her.) 

Stel. {motions him awaxj). Do not be alarmed — I am strong! I am a 
mother, and my child has only me now to protect his future. I will not 
faint — I will act. 

Fred. What do you mean ? 

Stel. {on steps). I mean that I am this man's wife in the sight of 
heaven ; I intend to make myself his wife in the sight of men. [Calcium 
on her. Ficture.) 

MEDIUM CUUTAIN. 



ACT II. 

SCENE. — Park of Mr. Randall's villa on the Sudson. 
Enter Walter Randall and William Wimberlt, l. u. e. 

WiMBEELY (l. c). Delightful place, Walter, delightful; no disguising 
that fact. I don't blame you for being ])rr>ud of your property. 

Randall (k. c). I believe I have ev tv reason to be pleased. You 
have no scenery equal to this in Chicagu. 

WiM. Well — hem ! no ; that is, we have nothing so romantic ; but 
then we have a sweep of prairie that is magnificent, if you could only 
get high enough to get a good look at it. 

Ran. The best point of observation there would no doubt be a bal- 
loon. 

WiM. {takes out cigar case). Look here, Walter, don't try to make fun 
of Chicago. Have a cigar 1 

Ran. Thank you, I never smoke, [sits at table, r.) 

WiM. Chicago is the city of the future, sir — the city of push and go. 
Rapid thought there is followed by rapid action. We don't take fifty 
years to build a court-housr, nor do we call every new party Refoi m, 
and oblige them to raise the taxes to pay off" the extravagances of a de- 
funct ring, [lights cigar.) 

Ran. Why, you don't mean to say we have no push here? 

WiM Bless you, no. You've got push enough, but it's not of the 
right sort; your push is directed against one another, and the weaker 
party goes under. 

Ran. Why, 1 thought you were partial to our city. 

WiM. Nonsense ! that's my brother, Ben ; you're thinking of him. 
He wasn't satisfied till he got to New York ; bought that property out at 
Manhattanville, you know. He thought he had a fine thing, wrote me 
it was a big speculation, that rapid transit would soon be a practical 
fact, and his home be worth double what he gave for it. This was years 
ago. Now look at him : he hasn't got rapid transit, and he has got 
chills and fever. 

Ran. I'm sorry to hear that. 

WiM. I'm not, sir ! serves him right — teach him a lesson. When a 



18 CLOUDS. 

man has his foot upon solid ground he ought to fee\—— {stamps foot, 
dratvs it up quickly) The devil I {staggers to seat down l.) 

Ran. {rises, crosses to him). What's the matter ? 

WiM. (sits L., caresses leg). Gout, sir, gout ! Yankee's showing figlit. 

Ran. Yankee ? 

WiM. Yes. Ever since the war I've called one foot rebel and the 
other Yankee, and when the gout comes, damme, how they do fight ! 
(holding foot) Yankee's got the best of it just now. 

Ran. You should put the Palmetto on one boot and the Union Jack 
on tlie other. 

WiM. What for ? 

Ran. To keep you from forgetting. {>its in chair, l ) 

WiM. Forgetting ! Weil, if ever you get the gout I'll go bail you 
won t forget it. It telegraplis its presence as soon as it arrives, and 
keeps the brain posted as to wliat's going on in the foot. 

Ran. I have fortunately been spared the affliction, but I can form 
some idea of its severity from the description of others. It serves a 
purpose, though — warns men against an epicurean career. 

WiM. Damn it. Walter, don't preach I Gout's bad enough without a 
sermon. This is only a twinge now, but if Yankee really means fight, 
I'll be forced to pay you a longer visit than I intended. 

Ran. Don't speak of that. I will regret your suflering, but be happy 
to i)rolong your stay with us. 

WiM. Thank you. 

Ella Randall and'Eoi,'. Wimberly enter, l. u. e , arm in arm. Ella 
has a book aiid blank Cater ; EoLA goes down to her fath'r. 

Ella. I have been looking for you, papa ; here's a letter. 

Ran. Thank you. With your permission, William, {rises, crosses r., 
sits at table, reads letter ; Ella goes up.) 

WiM. Well, miss, what have you been doing ? 

Eola {at his knee). Throwing pelibles in the water. 

WiM. Bless me ! that's nice amusemenl — what for ? 

EoLA. To make rincs. 

WiM. Oh, I see ! You've caught the New York fever already. 

Eola. What's that, papa V 

WiM. Making rings. You can't help it, my child ; it's in the atmos- 
phere liere, and ah, look out! don't touch my foot. 

Eola. A battle V 

WxM. No; only a skirmishing party. 

Eola. Which is it, papa — rebel y 

WiM. No, Yankee; and he's in a precious bad humor. But, I say, 
Walter, any bad news 7 

Ran. {starts from rererie). On the contrary, my son returns to-day. 
(rises.) 

WiM. Glad to hear it. 

Ella {runs down r. c. ). What's that, papa — Ralph coming 1 

Ran. This letter announces that fact. 

Ella. Oh, that's jolly ! {looks at Randall, startled) I mean delightful. 

WiM. You don't see much of your brother, eh? 

Ella. Hardly see him at all, and when he does come he's not like 
himself. He used to be the life of the place, and when he went away it 
was awful. 

Ran [sternly). If young ladies would take the trouble to understand 
the meaning of the words they use, they would give the word awful a 
rest. 



ACT ri. 19 

WiM. Why, bless me, Randall, you're asing slang. 

Ran. I \iad no intention of doing so. But come, if Yankee will per- 
mit you; I've not shown you all the beauties of my place yet. 

WiM. Wait till I see. [rises, j-jfec^-s foot down carcfuili/) A.h ! All quiet 
upon the Potomac. I guess I'll venture. But ;lon't go far ; it won't 
become your dignity to bring me back on your shoulders. 

Ran. (gives his arm). I'll risk that. 

WiM. Now then, you girls, look out; we're going to leave you alone; 
don't get in any mischief. [Wimbeult and Randali. exeunt, k. 3 e. 

Ella. We won't. Ah! they're gone at last; what a relief. These 
fathers are awful bores, ain't they 1 [crosses, iiis l.) 

Eola. My papa's not a bore. 

Ella. That's so — he's jolly ; but my governor's slow — one of the aw- 
ful solemn kind. Why, if he was riding behind one of Bonner's best, 
the only sensation he'd have would be the fear of falling out. But 
come, sit down and let's have a nice talk. 

Eola (sits beside her on seat, l.). AVIiy, don't you love your father] 

Ella. Love him 1 Of course; but I don't gush about it. Papa's 
stern and dignified, and that's why he and Ralph can't get along to- 
gether. Ralph useft to be so jolly. 

Eola. Your brother does business in New York, doesn't he ? 

Ella. What! Ralph do business? Why, bless your little innocent 
soul, Ralph has no more idea of business than my canary has of making 
love. 

Eola. Then, why does he live in New York 1 

Ella. Because he can spend money there faster than he can here. 
He does as he pleases there — we don't even know where he lives ; we 
send our letters to his club. Papa's been very angry with him lately, 
though. These fathers are awful diagreeable sometimes, but one can't 
well do without them — at least, until we're married. 

Eola. Oh, dear ! how you talk. 

Ella What's the matter 1 

Eola. My papa don't like me to talk about marriage; he says young 
girls shouldn't think of such things. 

Ella (in great surprise). Why, bless me ! what else has a young girl 
got to think about 1 

Eola. Papa says it's time enough for me to think about it when I'm 
a grown-up woman. 

Ella. Pshaw ! AVhy, your father's worse than mine. Now. you 
look out ; if you wait until you're a grown-up woman, you'll end by 
becoming a ringleted old maid, and die in solitude, lamented only by 
the cats. 

Eola. I wouldn't like to be an old maid. 

Ella Then make hay while the sun shines. Matrimony's the hay, 
and youth's the sunshine. Study the men — they need it. They're 
precious artful, and the more you study them the more you 11 be puz- 
zled. But you're a woman, and if you only keep your wits clear and 
your heart firm, you can rule the best man that ever breathed. 

Ella. Papa dt)n't like me to talk much to young men. 

Ella. Oh, bother! your father don't understand these things— fath- 
ers never do. It's natural ; they've out-grown it. Now, just thing of 
it. When they're in petticoats thej'' play with dolls ; when they sport 
their first boots, they kick football and gamble in marbles; when they 
go to school they fall in love, and when thej' get an income they marry. 
The first child they spoil, the second they scold, and the third they 
grumble at ; and by the time they have worried all the hair off their 



20 CLOtTDS. 

heads and wear a wig,tliey talk politics and philosophy, and forget they 
were ever young. 

EoLA. My pajya's not like that. 

Ella. Well, come ; when did your father many 1 

EoLA. He was married twice. 

Ella. And now he don't want you to marry once. 

EoLA. Oh, no ! he don't mean that; he only want's me to know a 
man's character well first. 

Ella. Well, how are you going to know anything about if you don't 
talk to him 1 You can't study a man's character by looking at his 
photograph. 

EoLA. No, I don't think you can. 

Ella {both rise) Well, now, you take my advice, and I'll make you 
profit by this visit ; and when you return to Chicago you'll be fully ac- 
complished. I'll teach you — (looks k.) Oh, dear! 

Eola. What's the matter .' 

Ella. Here comes ray shadow — young Modest. 

^ter Albeky Sedley, r. 1 e. 

Good-day, Mr. Sedley ; you're just in time — we were talking of you. 

Sedlet (r. c, raises hat). Anything bad ? 

Ella (c). No, indeed ; we were saying lots of nice things. Let me 
present you to my friend. Miss Wiraberly, Mr. Albery Sedley. 

Sed. Delighted, I'm sure. 

Ella. Now mind, I won't have you tease her, if she is from the 
country. 

Sed. The courtry 1 Why I thought Miss Wimberly was from Chi- 
cago 1 

Ella. Well, so she is; but you don't call that little western town, 
with its plank sidewalks, a city, do you ? 

Sed. I'll call it a wilderness, if you wish it. 

Ella. Did you come to take me out boating 1 

Sed. I exj)ected that pleasure. 

Ella. Well, I can't go; I'm busy. 

Sed. Indeed 1 

Ella. Yes, sir; indeed. But I'll take pity on you, and send a sub- 
stitute. 

Skd. Miss Wimberly ? 

Eoi.A (l. c, aside to Ella., pulls her dress). Oh, no, no ! 

Ella. Yes Miss Wimberly is very fond of the water, and has been 
wishinn all day for a sail. 

Eola (aside to her). Why, Ella ! 

Sed. Be delighted, I'm sure. 

Cora Adair enters l. u. •&., follmoed by Servant, with writing-desk. 

Cora {crosses •&.). Good-day. Mr, Sedley. Put the desk, on the table, 
Robert, Have you been rowing 7 («/ » at table, u.) 

[Sehvant ^VrtfM deiilc on table. Hxits, l. V. E. 

Sed. Just about to start, {to Ella) 111 get the oars, {goes up, enters 
boat house.) 

Eola. Oh, Ella, what have you done 7 I can't go without you. 

Ella. Nonsense, don't be silly. 

Eola. 1 know i)apa will not like it. 

Ella. You follow your father's advice and you'll die an old maid ; fol- 
low mine, and you'll die a rich widow. 



ACT II. 21 

EoLA. But I don't want to marry this man. 

Ella. Well, Miss Innocent, you don't have to marry a man because 
you go boating with liim. 

Sed. {comes out with oars). Quite ready, Miss Wimberly. Will you join 
us, Miss Adair 1 (Ella leads Eola tqj.) 

(JoRA {writimj at desk). No, thank you. I'm too deep in correspon- 
dence to thinlc of pleasure. 

Sed. Permit me. {helj)s Eola in boat.) 

EoLA (totters). Oh ! look out. 

Sed. All right, not the slightest danger, (to Ella) 1 do wish you had 
gone. 

Ella. Oh, pshaw, get in and row the boat, {thci/ row off k.) Good 
bye, Eola, take care your dress don't get wet. (comes down laughing) 
Poor child, she looks as frightened as if she were going to prison. 

Cora (writing). Why did you not join them 1 

Ella {sits on seat, l., reads). Because I wanted to read Middlemarch ; 
I'm just getting interested. 

Cora. In what character, Casaubon 1 

Ella. I should tliink not; there's too much parchment about him for 
me ; I like poor Dorothy, but 1 skip her husband. I suppose he's your 
favorite. 

Cora. By no means. He was a failure, and I despise a failure. 

Ella. I'm just reading where Fred Vincy made that mistake in his 
horse trade. Poor Fred, he's jolly — I love him. 

CoKA. Speaking of Freds — that reminds me, I received a letter from 
Mr. Town this morning. 

Ella (starts). Indeed ! 

CouA. Here it is — you can read it. 

Ella (throws book on seat, rises). Read his letters to another woman ? 
Oh no, thank you. 

Cora. It is simply upon business. 

Ella ( quickly). And what business has he io y^x'iie- -(stops, turns away 
confused) Oh, pshaw ! 

Cora. I will tell you its contents. 

Ella. Don't trouble yourself, (sits on hammock, swings.^ 

Cora. Mr. Town simply informs me, that he will return to-day, and 
present the new housekeeper. 

Ella. The new housekeeper 1 

Cora. Your father desired him to bring one up from the city, if he 
could find a suit ^ble ])erson. 

Ella {rises). And why didn't my father tell me of this "? 

CoBA. Excuse me, dear, but your father is the proper one to answer 
that question. 

Ella. And he shall answer it ; I'm not going to be made a nonen- 
tity here, if I'm not as old and wise as some people, 

Cora. Do you refer to me 1 * 

Ella. N-o-o. 

Cora. Your father loves you too well to refuse you an explanation. 

Ella. You seem to understand my father better than I do. 

Cora. I undeistand that you are provoked because Mr. Town has 
written me a letter, and permit yourself to speak without reflection. 

Ella. Provoked because Fred — I mean Mr. Town — wrote to youl 
Well, that's nice. I suppose he can write to whom he pleases ; I'm not 
young enough to be surprised at anything a man does, (sits l., reads.) 

Cora. I'm glad to hear it. 

Enter Fred Town, b. v. e. 



22 CLOUDS. 

Fred. Ah ! good day — ladies— I salute you. What a charming picture 
— living charms, rivalling the inanitiate surroundings of nature. 

Cora. You have returned 1 

Fred. As you see ; the gods have been propitious, and I return in 
safety with uiy sketch book lull and my pocket-book empty. 

Cora (seals a letter). For all of which you are duly thankful. 

Fred. Thankful .' Why just think of it. I have been in New York 
and have neither been kidnapped, robbed nor murdered ; and returned 
on the Hudson River Railroad, and encountered no accident. Thank- 
ful ! I should say I was. j 

Cora. We are glad to see you. 1 

Fred. Thanks — but apropos — I have a companion, the lady I informed 
yon of, the custodian of your keys and manipulator of your servants, 
who is willing to guarantee you a propre menage and waits without 
your gracious leave and pleasure. 

Cora. Pray present her. 

Fred. I will. By the way, where's Buddies 1 

CouA. At the house, I suppose — why] 

Fred. Nothing, {to Ella; Look here, you haven't said a word to me, 
Jap; what's the matter ] 

Ella [throivs dotvn book, rises). My name's not Jap, sir. {crosses r.) 

FiucD {aside, going up). Humph ! something wrong, {speaks off, k. n. 
E.) Come this way, Mrs. Lee. 

Music. — Enter Stella, slowly, r. u. e. 

Miss Adair, let me present to you Mrs. Lee. I am sure you will make 
her feel at home, {aside to Stella) Keep up your courage, I'll go for 
Buddies, [aloud) Now, ladies, I must ask you to ecxuse me. 

Cora. Are you going ? 

Fked. I m going to the house a moment, to see Buddies. 

Cora {looks closely). You appear greatly interested in him ; have you 
any bad news ] 

Fred. No — I have simply a drawing for him. {aside) That's true, I 
mean to draw his teeth. [Exit, l. 3 e. 

Cor?A [coldly to Stella). What is your name 1 

Stel. Amy Lee. 

Ella {sits r. of table r.). What a pretty name. 

CoKA. You are married ? 

Stel. I — I am — a widow. 

Ella. Poor dear, how romantic. 

Cora. I presume you are accustomed to the duties of housekeeping ? 

Stel Yes — on a small scale. 

Cora. Have you never had the care of a large household 1 

Stel. No, madam. 

CoitA. In that case, how can you expect to give satisfaction. 

Stel. I am very quick to learn, and although it may be a little 
strange at first, I will try so hard to please, that I am sure I will suc- 
ceed. 

Cora. From the tone of Mr. Town's letter, I scarcely expected he 
wished us to submit to an experiment. 

Stel. 1 am not aware how far Mr. Town's desire to serve me may 
have carried him ; but 1 have told you simply the truth. I have not had 
large experience, but I will strive hard to give you satisfaction, if you 
will give me a trial. 

Ella. Why, of course we will. 

Cora. E.^^cuse me, Ella, i am acting in your father's interests. I have 



ACT II. 23 

no desire to deal harshly with 3'^ou, madam, but the position is a very 
responsible one, and 

Ella. Oh, pshaw ! Where's the responsibility 1 keep the keys, gfive 
out the tea and sugar, regulate the butler, look after the silver and lin- 
en, and take a nap in the afternoon. There it is, in a nutshell, {ffoes up.) 

Cora. I was about to observe that the responsibility of the position 
justified us in demanding unquestionable references. 

Stel. Of course — I am quite prepared for that, {aside) Oh, this is 
torture. 

CoKA. The proper judge of this matter will, however, be Mr. Ran- 
dall, {looks L.) I see Mr. Buddies coming, he can show you to the house 
for the present. 

Stel. {down, c, aside). Buddies coming — now for the test. If he 
speaks, I ara lost. 

Enter Buddles, l. 3 e. 

Bud. I saw Mr. Town — he sent me here — said you might want me. 

CoKA. I did not want you, but now that you are here, show Mrs. Lee 
there, to the house. 

Bud. Very good. Hem. At your service, madam, {stands r. c.) 

Stel. {toith bach to him, aside). Heaven, how I tremble ! 

Bud. When you're ready , ma'am. 

Stel. I am quite ready, (turns.) 

Bud. {starts). Bless me. 

Stel. {aside). Lost. 

Cora. What's the matter, Mr. Buddies'? do you know Mrs. Lee? 

Bud. Know her ? Why bless me I never saw her before, as I'm an 
honest man. 

Cora. Then, what surprised you ? 

Bud. Her face — it's so calm — so sweet — so lovely. 

CoKA. There, that will do — show the woman to the house. 

Ella {comes quickly down, c). This lady. Mr. Buddies, will remain here 
as housekeeper ; I will show her the house — you can go. 

Bud. Very good. Don't mind me, Mrs. Lee, I'm onlj' an humble 
man. {aside, crosses, l.) Ha ! ha — I frightened her, I kept my word with 
Mr. Town, but I frightened her. Never saw her before in all my life. 
Capital lie, as I'm an honest man. [Exit, l. 1 e. 

Ella. You mustn't mind that old dunce, he's papa's man of business, 
and half crazy, 1 believe. Come, I'll show you your room. 

Stel. Thank you. {to Cora) Shall I receive any orders ? 

Cora. It is to save that trouble that you are here. 

Enter Mrs. Malvernon and Randall, r. u. e. 

Mrs. Malvernon {as she entcr>^). No you won't, I'll not have it ; my 
favorite must be respected. How do you do, dearl {goes down c, kisses 
Ella) Your father wants to scold you, and I'm going to be the good 
fairy, {botes to Cora) Excuse me, Miss Adair, I was so anxious about 
Ella, it has made me impolite. 

Ella. What have I done now 1 

Ran. (l. o/Cora). Something that, notwithstanding my knowledge 
of your thoughtless nature, I confess, surprises me. 

Mrs. M. (c ). There, now, don't be severe. I'll tell you all about it, 
pet. You see, Mr. Wimberly saw his little Eola rowing on the river 
with a young man — he was horrified, and he waved his hat frantically 
until the young man rowed ashore and took him on board. 

Ran. I, of course, knew it was your work, Ella, and, I assure you, it 



24 CLODDS. 

gave me no pleasure ; I will speak to you, however, at a more fitting 
time. May I ask to be presented to your friend 7 

Cora. That is Mrs. Lee. wlio applies for the posi of housekeeper. 
She has been presented by Mr. Tuwn. 

Mrs. M. My good-for-nulliing nephew. So he has returned. Of 
course he came here first — eh, puss 1 {to Ella.) 

Ran. (raises hat). 1 am glad to see you, madam. (Stella bows.) 

Cora. I have not yet had an opportunity of seeing her references. 

Stel. Mr. Town has them, sir ; he wished to show them to you him- 
self. I am sure you will find them satisfactory. 

Ran. Your appearance, madam, is sufficient guarantee of your claim 
to our respect, and being presented by Mr. Town, ensures you a wel- 
come. But we have detained you. Ella, Mrs. Lee may be fatigued. 
(ffocs up.) 

Ella. We're going. 

Mrs M. One moment, dear, and I'll go with you. Miss Adair, I only 
ran over to let you know my visitor has arrived, and as"k you to call. 

Cora. I will take great pleasure in making the acquaintance of your 
friend, {goes up to Randall ) 

Ella. Is it your sister, Mrs. Malvernon 1 

Mrs. M. Yes, puss, it's my sister — and be careful how you mention 
it ; she's an old maid. 

Ella. Oh, dear ! I won't like her ! 

Mrs. M. And she comes from New Jersey. (Stella starts.) 

Ella. Gracious! that's worse yet! She'll never be able to sleep 
here. 

Mrs. M. Why not 1 

Ella. Jersey people never get any rest unless they're sung to sleep 
by mosquitoes. 

Mrs. M. Hush, you tease ! Don't you let Miss Prim hear you speak 
against New Jersey. 

Stel. {aside). Miss Prim 1 

Ella. Gracious, what a name I 

Mrs M. Well, I've heard worse names than that. 

Ella. So have I. I heard of a man once who had such an ugly 
name the minister fainted trying to christen him. 

Mrs. M. Go along, you torment. I must really beg your pardon, 
Mrs. Lee, but when I get talkin-i to my favorite here, I forget myself. 

Stel. Pray don't mind me. {to Ella) You go with your friend— I 
will follow you. (Mrs. Malvernon and Ella exeunt, l, 1. e.) Miss 
Prim here ! another obstacle. Heaven help me ; it seems like fate. 

[Exit, L. 1 E. 

Ran. (conies down with Cora). I received this letter this morning. 
I am expecting him every minute 

Cora (r. c). I am very glad of it, for your sake ; it gives you 
pleasure to have him here, and he comes so seldom. 

Ran. (l. c). It is all my fault, Cora— I have been, in a great measure, 
to blame for it. The truth is, Ralph has had too much his own way. I 
have occupied my mind with home matters, and llie boy has run wild. • 

Cora {sits r.). Your son may be a little wild, but I wouldn't be too 
severe with him. It's somewhat diflicult for a young man to resist the 
contagion of New York. He is fond of life, and — I suppose it's very 
improper to say — but I like him tlie better for it. 

Ran. There is nothing i)uritanical in my nature, Cora, as you well 
know ; but, while I believe in a young man seeing life, I do not believe 
in excess. Now Ralph, I am sorry to say 

Cora {rises quickly). Excuse me ; don't betray his secrets 



ACT n. 25 

Ran. Yes, but Cora, this is something that you have a right to know. 

Cora {timidly). Then let me hear it first from his lips. If your son 
ever speaks to me in the way you would have him speak, he will then, I 
am sure, tell me all that I ought to know. 

Ran. [takes her hand) . Bless you, my child ; j^ou seek to spare me 
even a blush My son will speak to you in the way 1 would have him 
speak, and he comes here to-day for that purpo.se. 

Cora [represses a start of joif) . There is only one thing that troubles 
me. I fear that — that your son feels lather forced into lliis. 

Ran. Not at all ; he don't know his own mind. But in any case, I 
do not intend to study his inclinations. It must suffice to him that it 
is my will. 

CoBA. Still, that is not very complimentary to me. 

Enter Buddles, l. 1 e. 

Ran. Well, what is it 1 

BuDDLES. Mr. Ralph, sir — -just arrived — ^looks well and hearty — anx- 
ious to see you, as I'm an honest man. (ooes up.) 

Ran. I told you — he's prompt. Will you go with me % 

Cora. No ; you had better see him first. 

Ran. Always considerate. Bless you, Cora ; you are dear to me as 
my own child. 1 will see Ralph at once, and not neglect your happi- 
ness, {aside) Now to brace my nerves ; there'll be a struggle, but I 
must win. 

[Exit, L. 1 E. Cora stands r., Buddles looks around^ slowly comes down 
close to Cora. 

Bud. {pointedly). Well, he's come. 

Cora [with back to him). So I perceive. 

Bud. It's all right — he's up at the house — everything's going nice. 
You'll be Mrs. Randall after all. 

Cora. Perhaps. 

Bud. Perhaps 1 Well I wish I was as sure of being president. Why, 
the old man will 

Cora {turns, cro.sses h.). There; spare your comments; I'm not in- 
terested in your opinions. 

Bud. Yes, but I'm interested in your acts, as I'm an honest man. 
I've found out all you wanted to know — I've i)ut the old man on his 
son's track. Now keep your promise. 

Cora. I will — in good time. 

BtjD. The best time i.* present time. You've go your foot on my 
neck ; I want you to take it off. The sensation is not nice, as I'm au 
honest man. 

Cora. I find nothing to complain of. 

Bud. Of course not. A man's neck is softer than the ground. 

Cora. Listen to me, please. I have known you too long not to un- 
derstand you. Through me you obtained a position here that enabled 
you to worm yourself into your employer's confidence. 

Bud. {ironically). How good of you— how charitable! 

Cora. Don't interrupt me. I'll disguise nothing even from myself. 
I was forced to bring you here, I admit, but you were not forced to 
commit a crime. 

Bud. It — it was a mistake. 

Cora. But I hold a paper that would send you to answer that mistake 
in prison. 

Bud, You wouldn't dare— /or I would tpeak. 



26 CLOUDS. 

Cora. True — we are in each other's power — silence for silence. When 
I no longer dread you I will give you your release. 

Bud. And that will be ■ 

Cob A. When what I came here for is accomplished — when I am Ralph 
Randall's wife. 

Turns, seeg Ella, who enters^ tulUnlt/, l. 1 e. 

Ah, Ella, has your brother come ? 

Ella {sharply). Yes, he's come, (crosses, k.) 

Coka. Mr. Buddies was just telling me that he had an'ived, but \ 
thouslit he must be mistaken You must excuse me for doubting you, 
Mr. Buddies, and accept my tiianks for your information. 

[Bows ; exit, l. 1 e. He looks after her. 

Bdd. {aside). Well, if that woman bad been in Eden the serpens 
wouldn't have had a show. \to Ellaj Miss Ella 

Ella. Don't bother me. 

Bud. Oh ! I beg pardon — I thought 

Fred Town enters, sullenly, l. 1 B. 



Ah, good evening, sir. 1 fixed that little 

Fred. Don't bother me. {goes up.) 

Bud. Well, if 1 stay here much longer, I'll have ray feelings hurt. 
There's something wrong ; Id like to find it out ; but I wouldn't stoo^. 
to spy, as I'm an honest man. [Exit, l. 1 e. 

Ella crosses l., sits on bench, takes up book ; Fred cmnes dawn slowly to her. 
Night cmnes on. 

Fred {leans on back of seat \ Quite interesting, isn't it 7 

Ella. Are you speaking to me .' 

Fked. Yes. I suppose your book's quite interesting. 

Ella {reading^. If it were not why should I read 1 

Fred. Well, from the way you rushed at it. I thought you sought a 
refuge. 

Ella. From you 1 

Fred. Yes. 

Ella. Even a dull hook is preferable to a dull companion. 

Fred. Is it ? (yawns) I wish I had a book. 

Ella {rises, crosses., n.). If you find my society so dull I would advise 
you to leave. 

Fred {reclines in hammock'. Thank ycni ; I'm comfortable now. This 
is delightful. This is a luxury Epicuru.s would liave envied, and Anac- 
veon immortalized. In such a calm attitude of repose, Petrarch might 
have mused upon his Laura, or Alcibiades quaffed the juice of the grape, 
while the balmy ze[)hers of the lonan Isles chased each other through his 
curly locks. 

Ella (r.). Dear me, how poetical. Placing your body in repose ap- 
pears to elevate your mind to the clouds. 

Fred. There's everything in position. Your side to an opponent in a 
duel, your knee to a lady in a quarrel. Imagine the knee, please ; the 
.soft air of the declining day has made me lazy. 

Ella. If I am any judge of character, that appears to be your normal 
condition. 

Fred. All right — run through the list of my sins, and I'll reply with 



ACT II. 



27 



mea culpa, and end with Hamlet's plaintive cry, " Nymph, in thy orisons, 
be all my sins remembered 7" 

Ella. Thank you ; I've not the courage for such a task, and prefer 
leaving you to reflect on them, (crosses, l.) 

Fred. Are you going 1 

Ella. Yes. {^stands l. 1 e.) 

Fred. Well, if you meet Mrs. Lee, will you kindly tell her to make 
haste, or I'll fall asleep ? 

Ella [starts). Mrs. Lee ? 

Fred. Yes — the housekeeper, you know — she wants to see me before 
I go. {yawns) I wish she'd hurry. 

Ella. You're greatly interested in your protege. 

Fred. Yes — somewhat. 

Ella. Young widows are very romantic. 

Fred. Yes, they are. 

Ella. Especially when they're handsome and poor. 

Fred. Yes, that adds a charm. By the way. when you go ■ " 

Ella. I'm not going, {crosses, c ) 

Fked. Ah, in that case never mind. 

Ella You're awful anxious to get rid of me. 

Fred. Not at all ; but youve been so angry with me I thought you 
wanted to get rid of me. 

Ella. I've not been angry, {draws slightly near him.') 

Fked. Oh yes, you have. 

Ella ( xtill nearer). I — I wasn't angry — only annoyed. 

Fred. Why? 

Ella {nearer). Why — because — because 

Fred [sits up). Because what 1 

Ella {at head of hammock). Well, because — because — Oh, you know 
very well. 

Fred. Because you thought me a silly moth, singeing my wings in a 
new flame, {puts arm around her.) 

Flla {draws away). Well, when a girl is engaged to a man, she can't 
be expected to enjoy his flirtation with another woman. 

FuED {rises). Wants all his attentions for herself, eh "? 

Ella. Well, as she can't expect many from the husband, she ought to 
get all she can from the lover. 

Fred {sits down, l. h.). Well, come here and be a good girl, and I'll 
tell you all about it. 

Ella. I don't want to. {gets near him.) 

Fred. Oh, very well, [about to recline on bench.) 

Ella. There, don't be lounging about like that, [sits.) 

Fred {puts arm around her). That's nice — now don't be cross any 
more. 

Ella. If Mrs. Lee comes 

Fred. Mrs. Lee is not coming. 

Ella. Why, you said so. 

Fred. It was a fib. There's another sin to remember in your orisons. 

Ella. Well, what made you say so. 

Fked. To teaze you for snubbing me so. Here I've just returned, and 
you've hardly noticed me, but raised your little eyebrows, and played 
offended Juno, with icicles hanging all around you. 

Ella. Well, you deserve it ; away a whole two weeks, and only wrote 
me seven letters. 

Fred. Well, that was bad, but I ran short of postage stamps. 

Ella. Then look at the way you came back, with a young woman. 

Fred. There— don't fly ofi — she was in distress, and I helped her. 



28 CLOUDS. 

Ella. You're sure you don't care anything for her 1 
Fked. Perfectly. 

Ella. And you feel no interest in herl 
Fred. Well, only a certain sympathy. 
Ella. Never mind tvjat — I'll sympathize with her. 
Fred. Very well. 

Ella. And you wei^e only joking when you said she was coming out 
here. 

Fred. Positively ! 

Ella. On you honor, sir 1 

FiiED. On my honor! She is not coming — I swear it. 

Raises his hand tragically as Stella appears, l. 1 e. Both rise quickly. 

{aside, crosses, R.) By Jove, I'm trapped. 

Ella. Good evening, Mrs. Lee; you're just in time, [to Fked) Let 
me congratulate you on your success in deception. 

Frkd {aside to her). It's all a mistake — don't make a scene. 

Stel. I really beg pardon for this intrusion. 

Ella. Oh, Mrs. Lee, don't apologize — I am the only intruder here. I 
am glad you have come — Mr. iown was growing quite impatient. It's 
a lovely evening for a tete-a-lete; and, now that you are here, he may 
be able to keep awake. With your permission, Mrs. Lee. (bows, cr'isses, 
L. — aside) Id like to pinch her and shake him. It's an awful shame ; 
but what better can you expect from a man I [Exit, l. 1 e. 

Stel. What is the matter — have I done anything wrong ? 

FiiED. Not at all. You only happened to come here at a very awk- 
ward moment, and seemed to give me the lie. 

Stel. I don't understand you. 

Fred. It's all owing to my stupid desire to teaze. Ella and I have 
had a little misunderstanding, and, in retuin for her snubbing me, 1 told 
her that I was expecting you, and at the very moment I was explaining 
the joke — presto — you appeared. 

Stel. She will believe now my coming here was preconcerted. 

Fred. I fear I'll have some trouble to make her believe otlierwise. 

Stel. I can hardly thank you for this, Mr. Town, (crosses, r.) 

Fred. Now, for Heaven sake, don t you get ansry. I'm always blun- 
dering into some scrape. Of course 1 had no idea you would come out 
here. 

Stel. (.v;7s, r.). You have probably placed another obstacle in my 
path In her jealousy she may compromise my position here. 

Fred. I m the only one will suffer ; she's too proud to say anything 
about it. But what brought you out here — is anything the matter ? 

Stel. No— 1 could not stay in the house — the air seemed to stifle me ; 
I wanted to be alone. 

Fred. He has come. 

Stel. I know it. 

Fred. Did lie see you? 

Stel. No. He is going back to town to-morrow — 1 heard his father 
tell Ella so. 

Fred. It's a wonder he stays over night. Home's the last place to 
look for him. Siill, if you stay here, you must meet. 

Stel. I presume so. 

Fked. Then what will you do? 

Stel. I don't know. 

Frrd. Well, by Jove, this is the strangest thing I ever heard of in all 
my life. 



ACT II. ~ 29 

Stel. Life is made up of incongruities. Out of many a wild chimera 
has sprung permanent results. The fact that a thing is strange is no 
guarantee of its being impossible. 

Fred. Well, hang mo if 1 can understand it. You insisted upon com- 
ing here — but I don't see what good can come of it. Of course you have 
some plan. 

Stel. {rises). My main resolve has been the determination not tamely 
to submit to a flagrant wrong. I will not silently accept this man's dis- 
missal — that would be to share his sin. (cro'^ses, l.) 

Fred (r. c). But have you no settled plan ? 

Stel. (l. c). I had two — one has already failed. 

Fred. Failed ! 

Stel. Yes. I came here first to see this Miss Adair, the woman to 
whom Mr. Randall would give his son, mij husband. (Fked starts) There 
— I know what I say. Do you think I will admit, even to myself, that I 
have no just claim upon this man 1 1 may be his victim, but I have 
never been his accomplice. I had hoped to tell this woman frankly the 
truth, and trust to her woman nature to aid me. I have seen her, and 
she is not the woman for my confession, bhe would not pity me — I 
could not confide in her. 

Fred. That is natural. 

Stel. It is not jealousy ; I don't like her. You know we women don't 
stop to reason ; we jump to conclusions. I don't like this Miss Adair — 
1 can't understand myself— I don't know what is actuating me, but I be- 
lieve that my way to success crosses the track of her past life. 

Fred. Why, what do you mean 1 her past is well-known. 

Stel. 1 don't know. Yon have promised to help me ; see if you can- 
not find a clue to something. She may have a secret. I know this 
sounds foolish. I may believe there is something because I hope for it; 
but remember I am a poor, lone woman struggling with fate, and I must 
hope. 

Fred. I will do all in my power to aid you, on my honor. I never 
liked this Miss Adair, but still I believe you wrong her. What was your 
other plan y 

Stel. To see Ralph alone, and trust Heaven for the result. But I 
must not hurry — I must watch my time— failure there would be death. 
And now — there is another danger. 

Fred. What is it 1 

Stel. Miss Prim is here ; the lady you saw leaving my cottage. 

Fred. The deuce. 

Stel. She is visiting Mrs. Malvernon. 

Fred. Why, confound it, that's where I live ; Mrs. Malvernon is my 
aunt by marriage. 1 wonder if she'll know me. 

Stel. She will know me. Should she see me I will be forced to leave 
here. Miss Adair dishkes me as it is. 

Fked. Well, I swear, this is too bad. Hadn't I better see her, and 
explain something ? 

Stel. Ah, you do not know her. My only hope will be in seeing her 
alone, and try to persuade her to be silent. 

Fred (crosses, l.). Hello — by Jove, they're coming, 

Stel. Who 1 

Fred. Look, {points l.) 

Stei*. Ralph— and with her. 

F^KD. They mustn't see us here — come. 

Music, Se leadi her up-^they conceal themselves hy boat hottae, BaIiFB md 
Cora enter, l. 1 e. 



30 CLOUDS. 

Ralph ^^R.^ x am sorry at least that you decline to listen. 

Cora (l.). I decline for botli our sakes. I have nothing of the ro- 
mantic in my nature, Mr. Rnndall. Lite has taught me to be practical. 
As I do not elevate you to tlie position of a god in tlie present, I will not 
trouble myself to inquire if you have been a hero in tlie past. 

Ralph {seriousl//). But suppose I have been a devil "? 

Cora. Oh, Mr. Randall! I am not absurd enough to imagine any- 
thing so melo-draniatic. 1 know the young men of the present day are 
a little wild, but you know I am not puritanical. 1 don't like prosaic 
men. 

Ralph. If you will let me make a full confession. 

Cora. I am really proud of the contidence you have in me ; but, as I 
cannot give you absolution, I must decline to act as father confessor. 
{crosses r ) 

Ralph (sadli/). You are right. Miss Adair — you cannot give me abso- 
tion 

Cora {turns to him). Well, come then, let us drop this subject forever. 
I have neither the intention nor desire to pry into your secrets. Let us 
roll a stone against the tomb of the past, and place a seal upon it for- 
ever, {turns atvay, sits R ) 

Ralph. I cannot, of course, force this upon you; I wish to be frank 
and honest with you— you decline to hear me ; you will be good 
enough to remember this in the future and acquit me, at least, of in- 
tentional deception. 

Cora. Well, Mr. Randall, if I was of a suspicious nature, I might be 
induced, from your maimer, to believe you a villain, I prefer, however, 
with your permission to regard you as a gentleman. 

Ralph {aside). If she selected her words with a knowledge of the 
truth, she could not wound me more, {aloud) My object in seeking to 
make a confession, was that you might judge for yourself to which of 
the titles you mention I have the best claim. I will come now to 
the main object. You are aware of my father's wishes 1 

CoBA. As of my own parents' desire. 

Ralph. It seems that we have both been used as puppets in this mat- 
ter ; but it is too late to speak of that now I am given to understand 
that you consent to the arrangement. 

Cora. My poor father's wish was always a command to me, and since 
I have been here I have learned to obey your father almost as implicitly. 

Ralph. Although you are well prepared, Miss Adair, for the proposal 
I am about to make, I will yet strive to be candid. 1 will not speak of 
love. We have seen so little of each other that any attempt on my part 
to make this an affair of the heart would be absurd. 

Coka irises). 1 have none of the school-girl's enthusiasm, Mr. Randall, 
and, if I have little of romance in my nature, 1 have still less of senti- 
ment. I i)erfectly agree with you as to the absence of love in this mat- 
ter. The engagement in which we are entangled is the work of our pa- 
rents, and is only binding upon us in so far as we deem their wishes 
worthy of respect. 

Ralph. I am glad that you are prepared to look upon this in a prac- 
tical light. The past has left some maiks ui)on my heart that I find it 
ditficult to obliterate, and I am candid enough to acknowledge that my 
father's wishes alone would not be sufficient to influence my conduct; 
if, however, you are willing to accept so imi)erfect a suitor, I will seal 
this paternal engagement by offering you my hand. (Stella staggers, 
clings to Fued fur support.) 

Cora. Accustomed from my childhood to regard you as my future 



ACT m. 81 

hnsband, and remembering my promise to my dead father, I have no 

course open to me — but to accept. 

Ralph. We accept the engagement, then — which I believe we under- 
stand to be a union of hands but not of hearts, {turns away.) 

Cora {aside). I knew my man, and I liave won. {sits, e.) 

Ralph (l., at chair, aside). I have done it — saved my inheritance at 
the sacrifice of my honor. 

Fred {at back, l., to Stklla). Do you hear? 

Stel. {calmly). Hush. Watch, but wait. 

Picture — Cuktain. 



ACT III. 

SCENE. — Drawing-room in Ranball's vUla, 

discovery. — Ella and EoLXplay duet as curtain rises ; Miss Prim on go/a, 
L. ; Cora seated on ottoman, c ; Mrs. Malveknon stands ai piano. 

Mrs. M. {after duet). Thank you, iny dears ^ that was perfectly 
ruling. 

JoKA. Are you fond of music, Miss Prim 1 
\ Prim. I'm fond of church music and some sacred songs, but I don't 
111 those double pieces ; they make too mucli noise. 

Cora. That is often a trouble with duets. 

Prim. What's that piece called? 

Cora. I really must plead ignorance. Ella. 

Ella. Yes. {comet down.) 

Cora. Miss Prim would like to know the name of the duet you just 
finished, {c/oes up to window.) 

Ella {crosses to sofa). It's called . It's perfectly lovely, isn't it? 

Pkim. No; I don't like it. Can you play "When Dropping Tears 
Refresh my Soul ? " 

Ella. 1 never heard of that piece ; what is it — a polka ? 

Prim. It's a hymn; we sing it in Dorcas. 

Mrs. M. {comes down, e., with Eola). You must be mistaken. 

Eola. No, I'm not; ask Ella. (Cora sits at piano, turns music.) 

Mrs. M. Come, talk to my sister, and I will. [tJwy goc.) Matilda, this 
young lady wants to talk to you about Dorcas. Wlien she returns to 
Chicago she wants to give them the benefit of your opinion. 

Prim. Gracious ! haven't you a Dorcas society out there ] 

Eola. Yes, 1 suppose— really 1 don't know':' 

Prim. Well, did I ever! Why, Chicago must be worse than New 
York. You've got churches, haven't you 1 

Eola. Oh, yes. [sits on sofa beside Prim. Mrs. Malvernoit, having 
drawn Ella awaij, stands talking to her, r. h.) 

Prim. Have you got a Young Men's Christian Association 1 

Eola. I suppose so, but my papa don't like me to know much about 
young men. 

Prim. Very proper, my dear ; verj"- proper. Young men of the pres- 
ent day are very wicked, but when they belong to the Young Men's 
Christian Association, they become the spiritual guides of the weaker 
sex. 

Mrs. M. (r. c). You're a foolish, silly child. I know my nephew 



82 CLOXTDS. 

better than yon, and I say it's all nonsense. Fred loves you as well as 
ever. 

Ella (sits l. of table, r.). Does he 1 "Well, he takes a strange way of 
showing it. 

Mks. M. Why, yon don't expect him to he kneeling at your feet all 
the time, do you 1 ( Eola and Prim po tip, look at ])ictnre on easel.) 

Ella. Yes, sooner than have iiini at the feet of another woman. 
What's the use of heing engaged to a man if you don't get all his at- 
tentions 1 

Mrs. M. Wliy, you unieasonahle little dunce ! You surely don't 
think Fred cares for Mrs. Lee 1 

Ella. I don't know. You never can tell what men care for ; they're 
worse than a Chinese puzzle. 

Mrs. M. Well, now take care. Any puzzle can be solved if you take 
time enough. Now, no man ought to be a puzzle to a woman. They're 
shrewd enough in business, but bless you, they're perfect babies in 
love. 

Ella. And, like babies, throw away an old toy when they see the 
glitter of a new one 

Mrs. M. The man who is led by his eye alone may do so; the man 
who is led by his heart, never. Now, Fred loves you. 

Ella. Oh, pshaw ! 

Mrs. M. Tliere, don't jump ; I know what I say. A man, even .n 
love, requires very delicate handling. You may gently wind him around 
your finger ; but one harsh twist — one turn tt)o nuich, and you find your 
finger cut and your slave fled. Now, I know Fred's nature better than 
you do; but I fear he has got himself in a scrape. 

Ella {quickli/). What is it i* 

Mrs. M. I'm not certain yet. Now where did Fred tell you he was 
going when he left here 1 

Ella. To New York, to sketch animals in Central Park. 

Mrs. M. S() he told me ; but he was really down in New Jersey. 

Ella. How do yo« know 1 

Mrs M. My sister recognized him as soon as he came in — spoke of 
meeting him in Jersey, and the way Fred stammered a reply, showed he 
had a secret. 

Ella. A secret ! Put it in the plural, Mrs. Malvernon ; that young 
man is above having only one secret, {rises, crosses c. Mrs. Malvernon 
stops her.) 

Mrs. M. I think I have an idea what this secret is about. Don't do 
anything hasty. Keep this young man in leading strings, and trast me. 

Albery SEnLEY enters, d. l. 

Ella. Oh, Mr. Sedley, you're just in time to save us ladies from 
ennui. 

Sedlet. Charmed, really, {hctvs to Eola ) 

Mrs. M. (etsicle) Just like a trirl — siie'll spoil all now by flirting with 
that dunce, {ffoes to Cora, at piano) 

Ella, (r c). I want to introduce you to Mrs. Malvernon's sister. 
(crosses l. c.) Miss Prim, let me make you acquainted with a friend of 
mine, Mr. Albery Sedley. 

Prim, (comes down l ). Sedley — Sedley. Any relation to Dick Sed- 
ley 1 

Sed He's my father. (Eola stands back- of sofa.) 

Prjm. Well, I declare.' Why I knew your father when I was a child. 



ACT III. S3 

He used to live near us in Jersey, and supplied Long Branch with ice. 
{sits on sofa.) 

Sed. {shocked). By Jove, madam, it's a mistake ! it wasn't my father. 
{goes R., looks over bo<Jcs on table.) 

Ella. Oh, you're mistaken, Miss Prim ; liis father's a lawyer. 

Prim. Yes, it's the same — he made a fortune in ice and came to New 
York, and set up in tlie law 

Ella. Well, have it so. His father is immensely rich, and the son is 
a very proper young man. 

Pkim. I don't like him — he parts his hair in the middle. 

Ella. He's a member of the Young Men's Christian Association. 
{goes R., to Sedley.) 

Prim {to Eola). Do you know him ? 

EoLA. Yes; and he's a very nice young man. 

Prim. Humph ! What's your father think of him 1 

EoLA. Oil, papa's not a judge of young men. 

Ella, {to Sedley). I know— you expected a tete-a-tete, 

Sed. Well— I thought 

Ella. Of course. I'll fix it. [crosses c.) Eola, Mr. Sedley would like 
to take a stroll in the park. 

Eola ()ises). Are you going 1 

Ella. Yes. Will you join us. Miss Prim 1 

Prim. No ; I don't care to walk unless I have something to do. 

Sed. (aside). By Jove, I think walking is having something to do. 
{offers arm) 

Cora {rises from piano). Are you going out 1 

Ella {going). Just for a moment ; we'll be back soon. 

[Exeunt Ella, Eola and Sedley, at tvindow, 

Mrs M. {comes doivn r.). There, Miss Adair, you see wliat that young 
torment is about? Slie's getting up a flirtation between tliat innocent 
Eola and Mr. Sedley. 

Cora It is an act in perfect keeping with Ella's usual thoughtless- 
ness. 

Mrs. M. That's her object. Oh, I can read young girls, my dear, 
without spectacles, if I am an old woman. She'll make an excuse and 
leave them together, and if Mr AVimberly should see them, then the lit- 
tle Eola would suffer, (cros.tes c.) Come, Matilda ; are you ready ? 

Prim (ris'S). Ready >. Certainly. 

Mrs. M. (c. to Coua). 1 would like to ask you one favor. Fred and 
Ella aie tryins to get up a qnarrel. Now, as you are constantly with 
her, will you try and make her reasonable 1 

Prim (l.). She's too headslrona to manage. 

C'RA (It.). You are riglit; still I will do my best. 

Mrs. M. Thank you. Come, Matilda. . 

As they go, Stella enters d. r. Prim starts. 

Stel. Miss Adair, I — {sees Prim, starts violentli'— turns axoay agitated.) 

Pkim. Gracious ! You here ? 

Cora {surprised). AVhy, do you know Mrs. Lee, Miss Prim 1 

Prim. No, I don't know Mrs. Lee — but I know 

Stel. {with sudden resolve, crosses to her). Pray pardon me. Miss Prim, 
your presence here somewhat surprised me. {aside to her, quickly) Don't 
say a word till I see you again ; if you speak you wiil ruin me. 

Cora. I scarcely understand you, Miss Prim. 

Stel. {tries to he calm). This lady is acquainted with a secret of mine ; 
may I ask you to let it remain such 1 



34 CLOUDS. 

Cora. Excuse me, T was addressing Miss Prim. She will certainly 
agree with me that I am justified in demanding an explanation. 

Prim. Yes — certainly. 

Cora. Then, Miss Prim, if this person is not Mrs. Lee, who is shel 
{pause— Stell\ looks at PitiM imploringly.) 

Prim. I won't answer that question— I don't kuow whj' she is here, 
but I will say no more. 

Stel. {aside to her). God bless you ! {crosses tojire.) 

Cora. Then I have simply to regret your determination. 

Prim {to Stella). I don't understand this, and I don't like it. I : 
hope you'll be able to explain. Come, sister, {goes d. l.) 

Mks. M. I regret, Mi^s Adair, my sister's refusal to explain. 

Cora. It does not matter ; it will scarcely afiect the result. 

Miis. M. You'll run over soon \ 

Cora igoes to door with them). To-morrow perhaps. 

Mrs. M. Till then. [Bows and exits, d. l., ivith Prih. 

Ooka {comes down sloivly, c). Now, then, madam, I am ready for your 
explanation. 

Stel. Please don't ask me n"W. 

CoKA. By what name shall I address you in future! 

Stel. It is hardly necessary to ask that question. 

Cora You are evidently here under an assumed name ; and there is 
only one construction to put upon that. 

Stel. What do you mean 1 

Cora. I mean thai you either have no right to a husband's name, or 
feel ashamed of your own. 

Stel. {advances angrily). Why, do yoa dare — [draws back) I beg your 
pardon, I forgot myself. 

Fred appears in win low, c. 

Cora. I must request you (o keep your temper, madam, or miss — I am 
somewhat uncertain how to call you. 

Stel. I have given you the name of Mrs. Lee. The fact that I have a 
secret is scarcely sufficient reason for subjecting me to insult. Being of 
your sex should entitle me to some consideration ; but you hated me 
from the first. 

Cora. Oh, pardon me. My hatred, like my friendship, is confined to 
a circle somewliat above your own. But I will tell you this 

Fred. Look out, there's some one here. 

Coi:a {starts, goes b..). Listening, Mr. Town ? 

Fred [comes down). All the fault of my artist nature. Miss Adair. I 
was studying cliaracter. The light and shade were perfect, and the 
humble (iemeanor of the dependent contrasted very well with the cour- 
tesy of the high-born lady. 

Cora. I am glad the scene afforded you so much pleasure. It will 
make a fine companion picture to a certain tete-a-tete in the park. 

Fri d. 1 will be charmed to utilize the subject if you will explain it 
more fully. 

Cora. I would not presume to give a spur to your genius, but, as a 
hint to your imagination, let me .«U2gest that in a moonlight promenade 
there are often more listeners — than the stars. [Exit, d. r. 

Stel. [comes to Fred). Ella has told her of our meeting in the park. 

FiiED {crosses tojire, annoyed). I thought Ella was above that. What 
has this Miss Adair discovered 1 

Stel. Miss Prim has seen me, and though— Heaven bless her — she 
refused to speak, there was enough said to show I was not Mrs. Lee. 



ACT ni. 35 

Fked. By Jove, I wish this dear Miss Prim had never left the obscu- 
rity of Jersey. You 11 have to leave here. 

Stel. I know that. This Miss Adair hates me, and, a.s she does as 
she pleases here, my dismissal will not be delayed. 

Fred. Since it is sure to come, why wait for it 1 

Stel. I do not intend to. I will leave this house, but not the neioh- 
borhood, until I see him once more face to face. This woman can have 
no suspicion of the truth, and yet looli at her manner towards me ; she 
is coarse — there is a pretence in her refinement — I feel she is not a lady 
— and then to think of her as his — Oh, Heaven, help me ; I cannot bear 
that — it will kill me. {sinks sobbing on ottoinan, c. Fred goes to her.) 

Fred (c). Come, this won't do. On the path you have taken there 
is no resting place for tears. Listen to me. You have taken a decided 
dislike to Miss Adair. I regard that as natural ; but I have promised to 
be your friend, and I will humor even your whims. Now this Miss 
Adair may have a suspicion of the truth. 

Stel. {startled). How could she < 

Fred. Buddies was spying down in Eatentown'^she has a strong in- 
fluence over him, and he may have told her what he saw. If so she has 
only to couple Miss Prim's recognition of yoii with Miss Prim's resi- 
dence in Jersey to come at a shrewd guess of the truth. 

Stel. That is true. 

Fred. Now this Buddies came here with this Miss Adair, and, if she 
really has any secret in her life. Buddies is the man to reveal it. 

Stel. {springs tip). I never thought of that. 

Fued. Well, don't think of it again until I know more. 

Stel. But you will try i 

Fred. On my honor as your friend. 

Takes her hand. Ella enters at windrnv. They start — Fred goes to fire. 

Ella. I must really beg your pardon. I regret to interrupt you, Mrs. 
Lee, but my father desires you to have Mr. Randall's room over the 
library in readiness. My brother returns to-day for some time, {sits at 
piano. ) I 

Stel. I will attend to it at once, [aside., going r.) She believes I am 
trying to win her lover ; if she knew the truth, would she despise or pity 
me ? [Exit, d. h. 

Fred. Ella. 

Ella {playing). What is it 1 

Fred. I wish you'd stop that noise and come here. 

Ella. Thank you — [ prefer to stay where [ am. 

Fred. Well, then, I must come to you. {goes up.) 

Ella. Don't trouble yourself. 

Fred {leans ovr her). Ella, I wish to speak to you very seriously. 

Ella. Now go away, Fred Town, and leave me alone, {rises, crosses to 
sofa.) 

Fred {goes to her). Will you please to remain in one place, and listen 
to me ] 

Ella {sits on sofa.) No, I won't; I won't listen to a word you say. 
{eov'rs her ears with her hands.) 

Fred. Come, now, be reasonable. You don't understand this. 

Ella. I can't hear a word you say. 

Fred. You can't 1 

Ella. No. 

Fred. Now, don't be silly. You think you have cause to be angry, 
don't you? Well, you haven't. Do you think I'dl deceive you, eh? 



36 CLOUDS. 

\ 
Won't you answer me ? You don't suppose 1 care for Mrs. Lee, do you ? 
Ell { She's a very pretty woman thouEjh, isn't she 1'( Ella makes a 
slight movemoit) Has such a sweet and winning way, hasn't slie ? And 
then her disposition — she's very amiable, isn't she? 

Ella {springs up anffrili/). Fred Town, you're a brute ! {crosses, Vl.) 

Fkkd. Oil, no — just at present I'm a doctor, applying a severe remedy 
in order to restore 3'our hearing. I shouldn't like to have a deaf wife. 

Ella. Oh, so you expect to marry me? 

Fred. Of course — it's all settled isn t it 1 

Ella. Well, it's agreed on, but not settled. From what I've seen 
of mankind, I'd never believe I had a husband luitil the ring was on my 
finger and the marriage certificate was in my pocket ; and men are such 
slippery individuals, I'd scarcely be sure of it then. 

Fred. You have a poor opinion of our se.K. 

Ella. Of course I have ; so has every woman of experience. 

Fred. Yet, in stigmatizing our sex you cast a reflection upon your 
own. 

Ella. How so 1 

Fred. How can man be all evil since perfect woman sprang from his 
rib? 

Ella. Easy enough. All that was good of him left with his rib — all 
that was evil remained. 

Fred. It is probably, then, upon the principle that like objects repel, 
that this perfect woman is so partial to this imi)erfect man. Still it is 
to be regretted that even i)erfect woman sometimes stoops to unworthy 
acts. 

Ella. Do you refer to me % 

Fred. I regret to say I do. 

Ella. And I have done something, then, even more silly than listening 
to your vows 1 

Fred. You have condescended to act the part of tale-bearer. 

Ella. If you refer to what took place in the park the other evening, 
it is false. I mentioned it to no one 

Fred. What! You didn't ? 

Ella. No. - 

Fred (ande). IMade another blunder, by Jove ! 

Ella. I'm glad to know your true opinion of me, Mr. Town. 

Fred. I beg your |)ar(Ujn, Ella. It was all a mistake. 

Ella. Don't speak tit me. I hate you ! {'/ocs r.) 

Fred. Yes — but, Ella 

Ella. Silence, si^ropion ! [Exit, angrilij, L. D. 

Fred (k.). Well, I'd belter turn Don Quixote at once. I think I'd 
come out better in a struggle with a windmill than in a contest with a 
woman. Confound this busine.ss ! it's getting me into a nice scrape, 

Sedley ci/t'rs, moodily, from the park. 

Sed. [comes down, c, absoitlg). Hello, Fred. 

Fred {savagely'). Hello. 

Sed. {surprised). Why, what's tlie matter? 

FiiED {abruptly). Matter ! what do you see the matter ? What makes 
you ask such stupid questions V (goes up.) 

Sed. {dolefully). Don't be an^ry, old fellow ; I'm awfully blue. 

Fred {turns quicJdy). You are V Give me your hand, {shakes) I'm 
very sorry to hear it. [aside) Strange liow you can feel for a fellow wheu 
you have the same complaint. 



ACT IIT. 37 

Sed. (ta^es out nole-hooh). I've got soiriethidg father gave me for you — 
I believe it's a check, {gives envelope.) 

FitED. For me \ {opens it, takes out paper ^ 

Sed. Yes ; he's delighted with the picture, 

Fked. By Jove ! {drops envelope.) 

Sed. {picks -up envelope). What's wrong'? {reads envelope') Why, hang 
it, I've given you the wrong one. Why, what the deuce have I done 
with the one father gave me % \hoks in his book.) 

Fred. Where did you get this. 

Sed. Found it in the park. I suppose it fell from Miss Adair's desk. 
Here's her name on the envelope, {gives envelope.) 

Fred. Have you read it 1 

Sed. No — I never read unless I have to; it's too much trouble. What 
is It 1 

Fred. Only some accouiits. I'll give it to her. {aside, crosses, l.) 
When it has served my purpose, {aloud) By the way, what gave you the 
blues 1 

Sed. Mr. Wimberly — he saw me walking with his daughter in the 
park — took her undei' his arm, and shook me. Now, that's what I call 
small. 

Fked. Look out. 

- Wimberly and Eola enter at window. 

Ah, my dear sir, we were just speaking of you. Good morning, Miss 
Eola ; what can I do to serve you 1 

EoLA (c). Get papa in a good humor — he's so cross. 

WiM. (l. c ). Tut, tut, Miss; what are you saying? 

Eola. Well, it's true ; you're scolding me all the time, {go up.) 

WiM. (<o Frkd). Hear that? That's a plump contradiction from my 
own child. Well, if I stay here much longer, no one will ever believe 
she was brought up in the innocence of Cliicago. [sits on sofa. Sedleit 
Idoks carefully at Wimbkrly, gradiudhj goes to Eola, who sits at piano.) 

Fked {back to fire). ^ That is not verj' complimentary to our girls. 

WiM. Truth seldom is. You don't bring up girls right here. They 
study matrimony in their babyhood by having a toy beau for their toy 
doll, and graduate from the nursery with a full appreciation of the verb 
to love. 

Fued. It's our national character to dislike leading-strings. Every- 
tliiii2 is fast here, so we soon jump out of cliildhood. 

WiM. Stuff, sir, stuff. Childhood is the time for preparation ; and if 
our parents would only keep us out of our fiist boots a little longer, we 
wouldn't be in such danger of butting our brains out in a struggle with 
the world. It's no use talking, sir; we're too fast, much too fast. 

Fred You're rather severe on your own countr,y. 

WiM. Wlio bus a belter right, sir? What's the good of being an 
Anio.ican if yoa can't express your opinion \ But, bless mo, we're go- 
in i ahead so fast it's getting dangerous now to do that. Still I don't 
like your great city, and I say so. 

Fred. Not like New York '. That's strange. The Frenchmen tell us 
to " see Paris, and die ; ' now we say here, see New York, and live. 

WiM. Live ' Why, confound it, a mm can't live here without he has 
a fortune, and then he has a powder ma^az'ne. To live in New York, 
my young friend, a man must bo rich ; but if a man wants to be safe in 
New York he must be poor; and even then he shouldn't ride in the 
horse cars after dark. 

Fred. You seem to have studied our city. 



38 CL0T7D&. 

WiM. I have. I rcul tlio n?wspai)ers, and a mon who does that, sir, 
is not easily deceived. Now just look at your streets in winter ; a heavy 
fall of snow is an excuse for the contractors, and a sudden thaw a stimu- 
lant to the doctors; and then your police force — bless me, just ihink of 
it — you give one man a beat of four or five miles, and then curse the 
poor devil if he s at one end when a rows going on at the other. 

Fri D. 01), we intend to remedy all that. Wc expect to put in an en- 
tire reform party ne.\t election. 

WiM. And that will have just as nmch effect as trying to reform one 
rogue by knocking him down with another rogue. The reiorm you want 
is to reform the politicians themselves, and, damme, that's difficult. 
We've tried it in Chicago, and found out. 

FuED Well, we must look to the new school of philosophy for rescue. 
They're making rapid strides. 

WiM. There, that'll do ; I don't like those new-fangled ideas, 

Fked. Have you studied them 1 

WiM. Yes, sir; and I've bothered my old head over the Development 
Theory, Natural Selection and Evolution, and I consider it — all bosh. 

Fri D {langhhiyj. You don't believe in the origin of man, then, accord- 
ing to D.uwin \ 

WiM. No, sir, emphatically no, sir. Do you suppose I could take any 
pleasure in reading over my geneological record if I thought an ape was 
grinning at me over the top ] 

FicfJD. The presence of the ape would not affect your bank account. 

WiM. The man who has no pride, sir, beyond his bank account, is only 
worthy to be the descendant of brutes. 

Fred. So you're not very partial to philosophy ? 

WiM. All I ask of philosophy, sir, is to teach nie how to live without 
bothering my head as to why 1 live, {starts— looks suddenly around — sees 
EoLA and SEnLET.) 

Fred {qmcldy). As you say, philosophy is 

WiM. {rises). Hang i)hilosophy. You young rascal, you've made me 
forget that party. Eola ! 

EoLA [rises, rum down, c ). Yes, papa. Just look what Mr. Sedley 
gave me. Isn't it good 1 [gives cad photograph). 

WiM. {looks at it). Pshaw ! What do you want with his picture 1 he 
isn't dead. 

Eola. To put in my album. Ella gave me two beauties. One's my 
sensation album, and I have it half full of celebrated criminals already ; 
the other's my choice one — that's the only picture I have for that. 

WiM. Humph ! This is very choice, (crosses, k.) Come, 1 want you. 

Eola. Right away, papa 1 

WiM. (at door, u.) Yes, miss. I want to see that sensation album. 

Eola {to Sedley, who stands up, L.J. I'm very much obliged to you, 
Mr. Sedley; such a good picture. 

WiM. Eola! {she cro-ses -exits, quickly, n. r.) Excuse me, sir. {aside) 
Parts his hair in the middle Bah! \Exit, d. k. 

Sed. {pause — comes c). He don't like me. 

Fked \comes c). No, he don't seem very partial. I did what I could. 

Sed. I'm much obliged to you, old fellow. She has my picture — 
that's something. But come, we'ie out in the cold — let's go. {goes L. D.) 

Fred. Well, I suppose that's about the best thing 1 can do. 

Goes up as Buddles enters, d. r., with receipt-book. 

(aside) Just the man. (aloud) I won't go Just yet, Sedley. 
Sed. Shall I wait 1 



ACT III. 39 

Fred. Oh, no. (Sedlet exits, d. l.) Busy, Mr. Buddies % 

Bud. {opem desk doivn k.). Always busy, sir — business is what I live 
on. Just been collecting I'eiit. {^makes note in book.) 

Fred. Pleasant amusement ? {lounges on sofa.) 

Bud When they haven't got the money, yes, sir ; when they have got 
it — no, sir. 

Fred. How's that 1 

Bud. When they have the money it's tame, when they haven't got it 
— it's exciting, {closes desk.) 

Frrd. You like excitement then 1 

Bud. Yes, sir, keeps down my flesh. 

Fr. I'D. Well, if no one interrupts us, I think I can give you a little ex- 
citement. But first one th ng — When I returned here I requested you 
to blot something from your memory. 

Bud. (c). And you gave me the blotter. 

FiiiD. Ten dollars. 

Bud. And I forgot I ever saw Mrs. Lee, as I'm an honest man. 

Fred. If some one had ottered double the money, it might have re- 
stored your memory. 

Bud. No, sir ; Id have asked you for another blotter. 

Fred. I see you appreciate the value of money. 

Bud. I do, as I'm an honest man. 

Fred. Well, how much did Miss Adair give you for the information 
that I met Mrs. Lee in the park the other evening 1 

Bud. Not a penny. 

Fred. Then it was you who told her 1 

Bud. It was, as I'm an honest man. 

Fred. Well, you're candid. 

Bud My weakness, sir — I never tell a lie to a patron. 

Fred. Thank you, you do me too much honor. But now that we 
are on the subject, I suppose it was the same lady who sent you spying 
down in Jersey. 

Bud. It was, as I'm an honest man. 

Fred. And what did the lady pay for that? 

Bud. Not a copper. 

FiiED {aside). On the right track, by Jove, {alottd) Sit down. 

Bud. Sit down V 

Fred {points to chair at Jire). Take a seat there — I want to patronize 
you. I couldn't think of letting such an honest man stand. 

Bud. {sits timidly hij fire). Don't joke, sir, it makes me nervous. 

Fred. Ah, my dear Buddies, now we're comfortable. So it seems you 
don't charge this Miss Adair anything 1 

Bud. {savagely). I would if I could, but I can't. 

Fred. Why not 1 

Bud. Because — {stops suddenly] Because I can't. 

Fred. That answer is somewhat indefinite, my dear Buddies. Now 
I suppose you are aware that this Miss Adair does not like me ? 

Bud. She hates you. 

Fred. Well I did not wish to accuse a lady of such a vulgar animos- 
ity as hate. You are more candid if less polite. 

Bud. I like to be plain. 

Fred. Well, you can afford to be plain in speech, for you're by no 
means plain in person. 

Bud. Well I don't pretend to be a handsome man. 

Fred. Well, no. Buddies, you're not exactly handsome, but there is 
something out of the common about you, an originality, a stiong indi- 
viduality ; but to the point. Miss Adair don't like me ; granted ; I don't 



40 CLOUDS. 

like her ; acknowledged. Now, when a person hates another, what's the 
usual course "? 

BvD. Stab 'em in the back, as I'm an honest man. 

Fred. Well — hem — you ])Ut it most too strons, my dear Buddies. 

Bud. 1 don't mean physically stick — but theoretically stick. Trip 'em 
up ; spoil (heir game. 

Fked. Then you think there is a game 1 

BcD. {friglUened). Oh— I don't know. 

Fred. Tiie blotter has been applied to your memory, I see. I must 
try and find a chemical restonitive Now you give your services to this 
lady gratis, and as you are so fond of money, I can only account for 
that in one way, viz.. that she holds you in her power. 

Bud. [siarts tip). What I 

Frkd. Sit still, my dear Buddies, it'll grow exciting soon. 

BcD. It's exciting now, as I'm an honest man. {sits.) 

Fred. Now you were in the service of Miss Adair's father, and came 
to this country with her ; ergo — you must be well posted as to her his- 
tory. 

BcD. Excuse me — I — I must go. {rises timidhj.) 

Fked. Now, my dear Buddies, do sit still — you make me nervous jump- 
ing up in liiat way. 

Bdd. {aside). He's drunk, he must be drunk, {sits.) 

Fred. Now there is no use in my questioning the lady herself, so I must 
look to you for information ; but in order to be equal with Miss Ad- 
air ; I must, like her, hold you in my p' wer. 

BtTD. (7-ises). Excuse nie — I — 1 can't stand it — the fire's too warm. 
{crosses, c.) 

Fred {takes mt the paper). You 11 find it warmer in a prison. 

Bud. [with back to him). A prison ! 

Fred To the cell of which 1 hold the key. 

Bud. (turniny). Stop— that's mine. 

Fred {sits up). Excuse me, there's a higher claimant. 

Bud. Whol 

Fred {rises). The law. 

Bud But Miss — she had — how did you get that 1 

Fked. By accident, my dear Buddies. I appreciated them, retained 
them, and now utilize them. From tiiis paper 1 find that you have ap- 
propriated some of Mr. Randall's money in a manner ki»own to the law 
as stealing. Now there are many men calling tlieniselves honest, who 
steal, but when the law finds them out, they are, I believe, punished as 
crinunals 

Bud. When they're poor — yes; and I am poor, sir, but I'm an hon — 
humble man. Don't show that paper, Mr. Town; I haven't got any po- 
litical influence, and I'd be sent to prison. I'll do all you want, gratis. I 
was in lier power — now — damn it, now I'm in yours. 

Fked {stands nxir fire). You'll help me, then ? 

Bud. {close to him). I will, sir, as I'm an honest man. 

Randall and Ralph enter, D. l., Buddles starts, and kneeling quickly 
rakes fire, Fred crosses, c, meets Ralph. 

Ralph {coldly). Good day, sir. {ffoet to fire.) 

Ran. (ffoestodesk) Anything new, Fred 1 

Frkd (c.V I believe not, sir. 

Ralph {to Buddles). What are you doing? 

Bud. Raking the fire. 

Rat PH. Are you cold 1 



ACT Til. 41 

Bpd. Yes, sir^— fear it's the ague — it commenced with a fever and it 
ended with a chill. {j^iUs poker down, goes a little up.) 

Feed. IMr. Randall, if you can spare Mr. Buddies a short time, I 
would like to take him to my studio. 

Ran. What fori {sits at desk, tcriting.) 

Fred. To paint his picture ; I am illustrating the Darwin theory, and 
having evolved as far as the ape, I am now ready to commence on the 
man. 

Rax. And you propose making Buddies the connecting link, eh 7 
Well, take him along. 

Feed. Thank you. ( going, aside to Buddles) Follow me at once. 

[Exit, door l. 

Bud. {aside). I'm a connecting link, eh — I tliink not — for I'll separate 
some hearts in this house, as I'm an honest man. [Exit, d. l. 

Ralph {on sofa). I wish you wouldn't keep that fellow, Buddies, here. 

Ran. Why not"? 

Ralph. Because he's treacherous. He has deceit written all over 
him. 

Ran. You can't always judge by appearances ; men with the forms 
of Apollo have yet stooped to deceive. 

Ralph. That is true. 

Ran. I don't pretend to defend this fellow. I keep him here because 
he was in the employment of Cora's father, and she is attached to him. 
But I believe we did not come here to discuss Buddies, {rises) Here is 
the account I promised you; you can read it at your leisure; you will 
find there all the information you need about the estate, {crosses, gives 
paper he has taken from desk.) 

Ralph. I did not ask for the estimate, it was your own proposal, [takes 
it.) 

Ran. I am aware of that ; but it is my wish for you to have it. You 
will find there, checked off, such property as I propose conveying to you 
in trust, as soon as my wishes have been carried out. 

Ralph. In trust ? 

Ran. Yes, sir, in trust ; but what comes to you at my death, will be 
in fee. Now, I understand that you have ofifered your hand to Cora. 

(s«V«, I!. C.j 

Ralph. I see she has hastened to inform you of the fact. 

Ran. I requested her to tell me the truth, and she did so. Now, in 
sivcjking to her, did you mention the past 1 

Ralph. You might have asked her that, also. 

Rax. I piefer asking you, sir. 

Ralph. Well. 1 attempted a confession, but she poetically requested 
ine to roll a stone against the tomb of the past, and place a seal upon 
it. 

Ran. Very good, the truth has been offered, she cannot accuse us of 
any deception ; but let me suggest to yon tiie propriety of not i oiling 
that stone so tight as to forget the necessities of a certain person who 
has a claim upon you. 

Ralph. What do you mean 1 

Ran. I mean that before you seal up the past altogether, you should 
place behind that stone an annuity sufficient to guarantee the future of 
your child. 

Ralph {annoyed). We won't speak of that, please. 

Ran. It is to speak of that, sir, that I brought you here. I do not 
wish that the offspring of my son, sir, should be left to st.irvo. 

Ralph {springs up angrily). I do not intend that he shall starve, sir. 

Ran. Very good, but I want this provision made in such a manner, 



42 CLOTTDS. 

that in the future, there will be no occasion for you to see either the 
mother or the child. I will not risk the possibility that the lady to whom 
I offer you, may reproach me, that her husband visits the liouse of a 
worth 

Ralph. Stop, sir ; i will not near a worn against her, even from you. 
The hour that maizes me the husband of Miss Adair closes that wo- 
man's door against me forever. She would scorn me too deeply to ever 
receive my visits, even if she does not scorn me now. 

Ran. That sounds well, but you must permit me to doubt. 

Ralph. Well, permit me, father, to suggest to you the propriety of 
not referring further to an act of which you were partially the cause. 

Ran. {starts up). What, sir! Do you dare maUe me your accom- 
plice ] 

Ralph. In a measure — yes. A parent is morally responsible for a 
child's acts, and when that chill is a son, the responsibility falls most 
heavily on the father, {crosses, k.) 

Ran. (l. c.y What do you mean ? 

Ralph (r. c). I mean, sir, that the child brought up in the atmos- 
phere of fashion, surrounded by wealth, taught the ways of the world, 
without being shown its hollowness ; locked and dandled throu;ih col- 
lege, and launched into life with a full purse, has a right, if he falls, to 
turn to that parent, and say — " You profited by experience, why did you 
not warn me of the dangers ahead ? why did you not show me the rocks 
on which I mi<iht be wrecliedy" 

Ran. Why, how in the name of Heaven do you make me to blame? 

Ralph. From the manner of my education. 

Ran. I endeavored to educate you — as a gentleman. 

Ralph. That word signifies nothing. The elegant habitue of society 
is not always a gentleman, nor the humble toiler in poverty always a 
common man. 

Ran. There, I don't want any of that nonsense ; I like to deal with 
what is, not with what ought to be. (sits on sofa.) 

Ralph. I'm coming to that: I have been guilty of an act not only un- 
gontlemanly, but unmanly. 1 have deceived a gentle, loving woman 

Ran. Who was silly enoush 

Ralph. Stop, sir; I am willing to confess my degredation, but I will 
not hear a word aaainst the woman who has only to blush for having 
ma I.' the acquaintance of your son. 

R\N. As it is evidently your intention to wound my pride to the ut- 
most, sir, I must congratulate you on your choice of words. Since you 
respect this ])erson so highly, how came you to deceive her so basely ? 

Ralph. Through you. She was poor and humble, and I feared your 
pride. I could not come to you, trusting to your love to out-weigh 
worldly considerations. I knew your nature, and 1 feared the loss of 
the wealtli you have taught mo to worship. From my very youth you 
have bound me to accept the woman of your choice, or poverty. 

Ran. {rises, crosses, it). I pledged my word to my old friend, Adair, 
and my word I never bieak. (sits r.) Still, if you did not wish to yield 
to my wishes, I presume you could support your wife like other men. 

Ralph. How 'i I have received a scholarly^ education ; will it be the 
means of procuring me a tra<le 1 Can Latin or Greek teach me the rules 
on 'cliaii^e, or a knowledge of astronomy fit, me for a morcantile posi- 
tion ? I do not lack the willinfrness to work, sir, but the ability. 

Ran. There is plenty of woik. if you are forced to look for it. 

Ralph. And with what credentials ? I have not the physical practice 
to endure manual labor, and I have no knowledge of the professions. 
Cast off by you, I am simply a college graduate, standing upon the 



A.CX III. 43 

threshold of a strange life, with a parchment diploma in my hand, from 
which I cannot derive tlie sliglitest practical information as to tlie man- 
ner in which men. win bread. 

Ran. Wliy, do j'ou pretend to say there are no openings for young 
men in this country 1 

Ralph. No, sir. The openings are ample for those who have been 
qualified by expeiience to fill them ; or when a father uses liis influence 
for tlie interests of his son. But a young man, fresh from college, has 
no sucli experience ; his education has been theoretical, not practical. 
He stands in relation to business as a child to life ; forced to crawl be- 
fore he can hope to walk, if he has money and influence, his success is 
assured; if. however, he lacks both, he will find that his A. B. is no 
" open sesame," and will be compelled to subsist upon a beggarly salary 
in some business until he can learn enough to make himself practically 
useful. 

Ran. This case does not apply to me. I was not called upon to learn 
you a trade or place you in business, when I could leave you ample 
means to live as a gentleman. 

Ralph. But when you make my obedience to your every whim the 
tenure upon which 1 hold my claims to your induli^ence, you force me 
into the very deception of which you complain. I deny your right, sir, 
to educate me for a position in which I am called upon to thank you for 
my exemption from work, when you claim the privilege of casting me 
off with the sneer — go and work. 1 confess 1 should have preferied a 
trade in my youth ; that would have made me more independent in my 
manhood. 

Ran. (rises). I did not ask you to coni^ home to insult me, sir. I dis- 
claim any connection with your unwortiiy acts, either directly or indi- 
rectly. I have never deceived you in this matter. I gave you frankly 
to understand that I had p'edged my word as to your future, and told 
you frankly what you must expect if you refused to second it. {crosses, l.) 

Ralph. I do not complain of any want of candor on your part, I only 
question your moral right to force me into a union in which there is no 
heart. 

Ran. I force you into nothing, sir — I simply decline to have my money 
squandered on an unworthy object, and make certain conditions Uj.on 
which you shall be my heir. I iavc a right to make such disposition of 
my property as pleases me, and, if you decline the conditions, I will 
leave everything to Ella and Miss Adair, and you will be free to face the 
world, but without a penny from me to help you on the way. 

\JE:rits, d. L 

Ralph. He is absolutely heartless. Oli, how I desp se myself for hesi- 
tating. I know what I should do ; there is but one hone.st course open 
to me — and yet I pause. I have not the courage to do right. 1 cannot 
bear that my inheritance should go to a stranger ; and yet the more I 
think upon this marriage the more repulsive it becomes. 

Ella enters, d. r. 

Ella. Why, Ralph. Oh, I'm so glad you're here, Where's papa ? 

Ralph (l. c ). Gone out. 

Ella. I 'm glad of that — I want to talk to you alone. I've got some- 
thing awful to tell you. 

Ralph. Oh, not now. 

Ella. Why, what's the matter 1 

Ralph \going). Nothing — don't bother me. (<«r«« Jrrc/i) There, I didn't 
mean that, Ella — I'm a little annoyed. I'll just take a stroll in the park 



44 CLOUBS 

a moment ; then I'll come and listen patiently ; a little fresh air will set 
me all right, {aside, going) God bless her — I'll try and keep the Irulh 
from her. [Exit, c. 

Ella {sits mi ottoman, c. ). Well, I believe every one is going mad liere. 
One thing is certain, there's something going on that i know nothing 
about. It's too bad. I hate secrets. If I could only hold Mr. Town 
tight with one hand, and pinch him with the other, I think I'd feel better. 

Stella appears, door, l. 

I always had a poor opinion of men, but I did thought Fred — I mean Mr. 
Town — was an e.xception. But tliai's always the way ; every girl thinks 
)>he has an exception. 

Stel. {comes slowly to her). Miss Randall. 

Ella {looks up hanghtihj). Are you speaking to me, madam 1 

Stel. {sadly). Yes. I am going to leave heie — I am going away for- 
ever. ! know tliat none of you will be sorry — I have made many enemies 
in my brief stay — but I at least wish you to think well of me. 

Ella. 1 don't pretend to be of any consequence here. 

Stel. You have misjudged me, Miss Randall. If I could only tell 
you all, you would see how I could not wrong you even in thought. I 
have had great trouble, and Mr. Town has simply acted the part of a 
noble gentleman towards a lone woman in distress. 

Ella. And even extends his kindness to correspondence. 

Stel. I don't understand you, Miss Randall. 

Ella irises). Mr. Bnd:'l >s bronglit a letter from Mr. Town. I prom- 
ised to deliver it — there it is. [gives letter she has held in her hand) Now, 
having assisted in the conveyance of Mr. Town's thoughts I'll leave you 
to peruse them at your leisure, (going.) 

Stel. A letter ! {UjoIcs at letter surpi ised ; goes doun l.) 

Ella. If you will condescend to take my advice, you will place it 
with the others you have no doubt received from the same source, tie 
them with white ribbon and you'll find them all in good order when 
your turn comes to send them back. [E.rit, d. r. Matic, pp. 

Stel. {sits on sofa). A letter to me, from Mr. Town \ What can it 
mean ' {opens it nervously- reads) " Mrs. Lee. — Courage and hope. I've 
taken the first stej) on the path you set before me, and expect to achieve 
more than your most sanguine hopes, Tiie canvass is on the easel, the 
brush is in my hand, Buddies 8ui)plies the colors, and the painted result 
will ast')ni.sh no one more than yourself. It is a full moon to night. If 
you would like to know the subject of my picture, take a walk in the 
j)ark, and this time I will take care there are no listeners— Aw< the stars.^ 
Fred Town." {rises\ He has made some discovery. Oh, can it be ])ossi- 
ble that what lias seemed a wild fancy, a mad chimera, may yet become 
a reality 1 But what uood can it do me now. I must leave here or she 
will force me to go. 1 will not wait for — — {looks in glass, sees Ralph 
entering c. from park) He here ! — face to face at last, {stands looking in 
fire, with back to c.) 

Ralph, entering o., comes down. 

Ralph {looks at her carelessly). Mrs. Lee, I presr.me. Don't let me dis- 
turb you, madam, (goe^ to de-kj I came in expecting to find ray sister; I 
presume she became tired of waiting, {opens desk, sits.) 

Stt.l. (m strange voice). She h;>s just left. 

Ralph, {writing), I am not surprised ; she seldom remains in one 
place long. 



ACT III. 45 

Stel. Have you any commands, sir '? 

Ralph Well, I would like \ ou to have my room well aired, please. 
It has been so long since I occupied it 1 suppose it is rather musty. 

Stel. I have already attended to it, sir. 

Ralph. Thank you — then that is all. 

Stel. {hesitates, then sloioly turn", goes L. effaces him). Have I your 
permission to retire, sir 1 

Ralph. Permission, my dear madam ? Why, I (leans back in chair, 

pen in hand, sees her — springs up) Great heavens ! Stella ! 

Stel. I am called here Mrs. Lee, sir. 

Ralph. Why, what are you doing here under a false name % 

Stel. Followin.g your example. Gordon was not your real name. 

Ralph. Come with me — they mustn't see you here. 

Stel. Excuse me, a housekeeper is not confined to one room. 

Ralph. What ! You a housekeeper in my father's house ! 

Stel. Why not 1 

Ralph. Why not 1 Great Heaven ! you should not have come here. 

Stel. If you know anj^thing against my good name, sir ; if you can 
point to any act of mine that should bar me from earning my bread in 
an honest manner, reveal it to your father and ho will turn me from the 
house. 

Ralph. Earning your bread? Why, I left you ample means. 

Stel. Did you not know me better than to believe 1 would touch one 
penny of the money to which I had no legal claim 1 When you dis- 
closed to me your treachery, you closed to me your purse. 

Ralph. But this is madness. You have no right to refuse this 
money. 

Stel. I have a riaht to refuse from you everything that does not come 
in the shape of justice. I will not take from your hand as bounty that 
which it is my privilege to demand of you as a right. I am not ashamed 
to plead with you to rectify my wrong, but I am ashamed to siiare it. 

Balph. Why, the most ordinary person would allow 

Stel. I am no ordinary woman, sir ; my presence here attests thiit 
fact. The world would regard this as unpiecedented, and scorn my 
boldness ; but what cm I do y a poor and friendless woman ; wliere can 
I turn for redress \ To the law 1 Poverty against wealth weighs but 
lightly in the scales. And if I won, could damages, wrung from a smil- 
inj; jury, repay me for the shame spealdns in my tears .' 

Ralph. If you come for vengeance I have nothing to say. {turns, sits 
at table, n.) 

Stel. I did not come for vengeance — I came for justice. I hoped to 
confess all to the woman you were to wed, and gain her aid ; but the 
first tone of her voice sealed my lips. I felt she had no heart — she 
would despise, not pity. 

Ralph. Don't speak of her — if you knew my excuse. 

Stel. Excuse ! Can you speak to me of an excuse fov your act ? 
Can any pressure of circumstances on your life atone fo.- tin ruin of 
mine ? I am ruined, and can yet face you without a blusli, for the slnme 
that has come to me was throuah your deception, and not, my will. Y'ou 
repaid mj' love with the kiss of a -Judas; the ring I wore upon ray fin- 
ger was a mockery — tlie certificate I guarded as the holy guarantee of 
my honor was a forgery, and now 1 have thrown them both away to ask 
you to replace that spurious metal with the genuine gold. 
Ralph. And it was for this you came he;e 1 

Stel. Yes. I would not appeal to your father — I sought not to ex- 
pose vou — and I declined to ask the law for redress. 
Ralph. Why? 



46 CLOUDS. 

8tel. (sadli/). Because an appeal to the law would but have lefi, as an 
lieii loom to our child a printed lecord of his father's sin. 

Ralph. There — don t speak of him. {rises, crossn, l., sadly.) 

Stel. (greatly moved). It is for his .sake alone, Ralph, that I am here. 
Had I to siiflfer alone I wouid .^^utt'er in silence. I am not pleadinjt to 
you as a woman for her love, but as a mother for her child. (Ralph 
s nks on sofa) Have you ever thought of liiin, Ralph — our — your boy ? I 
left him praltlins in childish glee, a sunbeam in every smile, a part.dise 
ill every toy. We have given him existence, should we not also give 
h'm a name 1 He will one day become a man. Will you force his mo- 
ther to cloud his future by breathins into his ear, upon the threshold of 
manhood, the story of a sin ? He will one day ask after his father; to 
say you are dead would be a lie, to whisper you are living would be a 
shame. 

Rai.pu. Oh. stop — stop. 

Stel. Oil, Ralph, do not turn from me — if you no longer love, at least 
pity me. Remember 1 am a mother — with all a mother's tenderness, all 
a mother's love. Oh, think of our boy— I cannot look in his face, lean- 
not take him in my arms without the thought that he may live to one 
day curse us both, [drops on her knees beside him) Oh, Ralph, be just — 
give nie the right to look in that child's face without a blush — give him 
the right to call you father. 

Ralph. Oh, stop ! this is torture. I cannot make redress. 

Stel. Cannot! What prevents ? 

Ralph. Poverty — the loss of my inheritance. Our union would leave 
me a beggar, (rises, crosses r.) 

Stkl. [rise."). No man need be a beggar here who has the strength 
and will to work. You should not shrink from the consequences of 
your act even though it be poverty. I am willing to labor for my child, 
why should you not labor for the mother ? 

Ralph. Oh, you do not know, {sin/cs in chair, r.) 

Cora appears, c.,from park, with letter in her hand. Music, plaintive, pp., 
till curtain. 

Stkl. I know that you have not the courage to do right. But, th«re, 
I will plead with you no more. I will leave here forever, and return to 
my boy. By your act he is oiphaned. I will live for his sake and 
work for his support. I will not make poverty the bugbear of his youth, 
that he may not plead it as an excuse in his manhood. I will strive to 
inculcate in his breast a love of truth and a regard for honor, and when, 
with boyish glee, he speaks as other children of his father, I will bend 
his knee beside his little cot and point him to his only father — his Father 
in heaven. 

Ralph (r., springs up, excitedly). Stella, stop — don't go — I — (Cora 
comes down quickly, c, he sets her, stops suddenly, sinks on chair, his head cm 
tabic.) 

Cora (c). Your dismissal from Mr. Randall, madam, (yives letter.) 

Stel. (h., calmly, taking letter ). It comes in good time. Now 1 am 
ready to go. (Stklla stands at duor, l., Cora stands by ottoman, c, looking 
at her triumphantly, Ralph sits r., with his head bowed on table. Picture.) 

UEDIDM CURTAIK. 



47 



ACT IV. 

Scene. — Same as Act III. 

Discovery— -SedIjEY sits in chair, atjire, holding a skein of Berlin wool, EoLA 
sits on sofa, winding it off. Lively music at rise. 

EoLA. Are you tired ? 

Sed. Oh, dear, no — not at all. I rather like it. 

EoLA. That's funny. My brother Gus. used to get so cross— he never 
held it half as nice as you do. 

Sed. Well, brothers don't understand this thing. I never hold it for 
rey sister. 

EoLA. You dont ! Why 1 

Sed. She don't wind as nice as you do. 

EoLA. Oh, Mr. Sedley 1 (drops the ball, both stoop for it, their heads come 
in contact, she draws back timidly) Oh, excuse me ! 

Sed. {gives her the ball). Beg pardon — all my fault. Did I hurt you ? 

Eof-A Oh, no. How stupid of nie to drop the ball) 

Sed. I was too far off — ought to sit nearer. Don't you think so 1 

EoiiA {timidly). I don't know. 

Sed. [at end of sofa) Hadn't I better sit here? 

Eoi.A {move'< to r. end). Maybe so. 

Sed. {sits on other end). I think that's better ; don't you 1 

EoLA. Yes ; it don't wind so tight now. 

Sed. I wish you wouldtft wind so fast. 

EoLA. Yes 1 

Sed. Yes. 

EoLA. Whyl 

Sed. You'll get done too soon. 

EoLA (quickly). Oh, I have a great deal more. 

Sed. [sits neanr). That's jolly ! I could sit a whole day and do this. 

EoLA. You could 1 

Sed. Ye.^. {gets nearer, she looks up, he draws back). You wind better 
when I'm close Lo you, don't you 7 

EoLA. Ye-s. 

Sed. Now isn't it funny ? Do you know what I was thinking! 

EoLA. No. 

Sed. I was thinking how angry your father would be if he could see 
us now. 

EoLA. Oh, papa's getting old ; you mustn't mind him. 

Skd. No. I won't, ^gets nearer) He don't like me, does he? 

EoLA {timidly). He don't know you very well. 

Sed. Well, you — you knew me very well. 

EoriA. Yes. 

Sed. Well, you like me a little, don't you? 

EoLA Well — I — that is, you have been very kind to me, and I — I al- 
ways liUe kind people. 

Sed. But I don't mean that kind of like; I mean another word like 
like — same number of letters, but spelt another way. 

EoLA. I don't know what you mean 'i 

Sed. I mean a word like 1-o-v-e. What's that spell ? 

EoLA. It spells love. 

Skd. That's it — that's the way I want j'ou to like me. Will you 1 

EoLA. Oh, my ! papa would be so angry. 

Sed. Oh, your father's getting old ; don't mind him. 



48 CLOUDS. 

EoLA. Oh, ain't you ashamed to say that ? 

Sed. I mean, he's older than we are. 

EoLA. Of course he is. Oli, Mr. Sedley, j'ou're tangling that all up. 

Sed. And yoirre tangling me all up. Come now, say you love me a 
liitle, won't you 7 

EoLA. Not if you say anything against my i)apa. 

Sed. Tlien you d(i — you do love mo a liitle 'i {trim to put arm around 
hcr^ but can't for the shci)i. Asufc) Confound the skein ! 

EoL.i (riscsi. Oh, dear! you'll have that all in a knot! 

Sed. (ri'fs). Don't go — say yes, won't you 1 

EoLA Oh, my! some one's coming. Hush! {she sists l. of table, r., 
demurely winding. Sedley sits on sofa, l.) 

WiMBKRLY entcr.i, d. r., with newspaper in his hand, comes c, looks at them. 

WiMBERLT. Bless mc ! what an innocent looking couple! Don't you 
think you could wind better if you'd sit farther apart? 

Sed. (rises). Good-day, sir ; I'm in your way. (crosses c.) 

WiM. Thank you. I want my favorite chair. Rather chilly in the 
house. Have you read the morning paper '^ (turns nm-chalr, sils in frniil 
of /ire, w:th his bark to thim.) 

Sed. (r. c. ). No, sir. (aside to Eol\) He's in a good humor ; isn't he ? 

EoLA. Yes ; splendid ! 

V» lyi. . (reads pa2>er). Never ought to miss reading a morning paper, 
t^ir — tireatest blessing of an enliiilitened age. 

Sed. Yes, sir; you're right, sir. (to her) May 1 ask liini 'f 

Eot.A. If you want to. 

Wi.vi, Pajjer full of news. A conductor on the Third Avenue line was 
robbed of all the fares last night. The directors call it sacrilege, and 
intend having detectives hereafter on each car. 

S::d. Thai's too bad. 

WiM. Bad ! Egad, I think that robbery was a blessing. 

Sed. Of course, sir; that's wliat 1 mean. 

EoLA. Don't contradict him. 

Skd. (places skein ill her lap, tvith suddtH resolve). Here — hold this. I'd 
ask \\.in riiilit away. {(/oesL., boldhj.) 

WiM. Bless uie; listen to this, (reads, ^i^h-lkx stops, c.) " The bill now 
before the legislature at Albany, by which it is proposed to increase tlie 
head money paid to the Conuni.ssioners of Emigration for every emi- 
izrant l.mdod at Ca.sile Garden, is calculated to inflict serious injury npt.n 
flic commerce of thi.s port, as the steamship companies are unanimous 
in their determination to land their passengers at Boston and other 
purls, rather than submit to the additional tax." 

Si:n. (retreating to Eola). He won't listen to me. 

WiM. Weil, sir, whal do you think of that '? 

Sed. It's terrible sir. The eminrrants ought to know better. 

WiM. (springs up). Emigrants the devil, sir. What have they to do 
with it/ It's your greedy politicians, filling their pockets, and driving 
a jirosperous trade from youi- city ; can't you see that ? 

EoLA (aside). Oh, dear, don't ask him now. 

Sed. I — I was thinking of som'^thing else 

WiM Why, confound it, then yon didn't hear a word. 

Si:d. Oh, yes. sir. I hoar 1 i! ; bul the fact is 

WiM. You didn't understaixl it. 

EoL\. Or course, ]>apa, he understood it, but I took away his atten- 
tion. M> lieiliit wool got all tangled up. 



ACT IT. 49 

Sed. {desperate). The fact is, Mr. Wimberly, I wish — hem ! I wish to 
speak to you on a very serious subject. 

WiM. Well, sir, oo on. 

Sed. I have seen, that is, I have felt— of course you are well aware — 
well, when 1 say I feel, 1 mean to say 

WiM. That you have a sensation, eh '! 

Sed. Yes, sir ; a sensation in a way — a feeling in a way — that I feel 
bound — of course to tell you — but that you might 

WiM. Why, bless me Mr S6^Mey, you're tangled up worse than the 
wool. 

Sed. Can't get started, sir. Would you mind a little walk 1 I think I 
can talk better in the air. 

AViM. Bless me, I hope so. Come at once, sir, if you please, [goes 
up, 0.) 

Sed. (to EoLA). He's in a bad humor now, isn't he] 

EoLA (rises). No, only pretending. 

WiM. [at tcindmv). I'm waiting, sir. 

Ella enters, d. n., with package of blank letters tied nlcch/ tvith white ribbon. 

Sed. [going up). Good day, Miss Ella; I'm just going to take a little 
stroll with Mr. Wimberly. 

Ella. Well, go on; I have no objections. 

[Wimberly and Sedley go out, c. 

EoLA. Oil, Ella, 1 am so happy. 

Ella. Are you 1 I'm glad somebody's happy here, [ffoes b. , sits at 
desk.) 

EoLA. Are you going to write ? 

Ella. No, only send away some antiquities, (directs the package.) 

EoLA. Antiquities ? 

Ella. Yes — musty old love letters. 

EoLA [ffoes to her}. Oh, mj', you're not going to give up your love let- 
ters ? 

Ella. Of course 1 am ; what's the good of them when the subject's 
worn out ? 

EoLA. Oh, dear, I'd never do that. 

Ella. Pshaw ! Every girl has to do it some time. I— I expected 
how it would be from the first — I — I thought it would end like this ; so 
1 bought this — this prelty piece of ribbon, and ke])t them tied up nice 
so as to have them all ready when the time came to send them back. 

Eola. I wouldn't do it, dear. 

Ella (rises, goes to table). Oh, you're a child — you don't understand 
these things, (rings bell on table.) 

Eola. Well, I'm commencing to learn. 

Enter Servant, d. l. 

Ella. Leave this package at Mrs. Malvernon's. There is no answer. 

[Servant takes letter, and exits, d. l. 
There, now, it's done, and I — I am wretched, [sinks on ottmnan, c.) 

Eola (goes to her). I'm so .sorry you're unhappy. 

Ella. I'm not unhappy. Do you think I — I care because I sent back 
some — some old letters. 

Eola. It seems so strange. I'm sure I'd never send back a love letter. 

Ella. Did you ever have one ? 

Eola. No — not yet. 



50 CL0T7DS. 

Ei.i-\. You tliink they are wonderful — but they're not. 1 11 show j-ou 
on;-. 

J)r,LA. Why, didn't you send them all away ? 

Eli.a [ttfkes leti3r from dress). No — I — I retained .just one — to rrmrn)- 
ber how — how badly lie wrote. Listen to this, (leads) " My dear ,]j\) ' 
— II.' used to call me Jaj) because my hair came out— ' My dear Ja;) — 
I am tliinUin:^ of you, and hard at work. I'm ])aiiitiniz tlic handsoin<»st 
moitUey you ever saw. 1 can't take you out boatinj to-day ; the mon- 
key's lej; is mot done, and I hale to leave olT Excuse and Ihinli of m ) 
in solitude. Be very careful of your hair ; a bald yount; lady is not m- 
tcre.stina, and a wig is not artistic. Thine in Cupid. — Fred." There 
what do yr-ii think of that ' 

Eoi.A. I think it's horrid ! 

Ell.v {r/scs) Well, if you don't like his letters, Miss Wimberly, you 
raiiiht ke;';) it to yourself, {rrosse.i, r., awn'ily.) 

EoLA. I mean I don't think .\lbery would write like that. 

Ella. -Vre you speaking of Mr. Sedley 1 

EoLA [(imi(Uij). Yes. He's gone to ask papa to let me call biin A!- 
bery. 

Ella. Well, upon my word you are going fast. 

EoLA. You told me to connnence early. 

ELf.A. Did I \ Well, I've changed my mind, {sits, k. a.) I thought I 
knew the men, and 1 didn t. 

EoLA. .Ml miMi are not al.ke. 

Ella. Oh bother. Every girl thinks her lover is perfect- You take 
nay advice — let the men alone. I've had jnore experience than you have, 
and if I can't manage them — you can't. 

Hitter Ralph, d. e. 

EoLA. I don't want to manage them, (sees Ralpu) Oh ! 

Ralpu. Don't let me disturb you. Talking secrets 1 (crosses tojirc.) 

EoLA. Oh no — I was just going — I want to see — papa, {to Ella) 
Don't tell, Ella, [aside, going up) Everybody lias the blues in this hou.so 
but me — and I — oh I am so happy. [Exit, c, on laivn. 

Ella. Is anything the matter, Ralph 1 

Ralph. Yes. Ira going away. 

Ella. Going away V (rises, goes to him.) 

Ralph. Yes. .My father gives me a homo simply upon a condition ; 
I have been base enough to hesitate, but I have at last summoned the 
courage to go. 

Ella. Is it about Coral 

Ralph. Yos. I have resolved not to make her ray wife. 

Ella. 0!i I'm so glad, Ralidi ; I don't lii;e her. 

Ralph. 1 fought this opportunity, Ella, to speak of sorae one else ; a 
young man who I find has sutlered through me. 

Ella. Who do you mean ? 

Ralph. Fred Town. 

Ella. Excuse me, I don't want to hear anything about that person. 
[goes, c. sits on ottoman. 

Ralph ( goes to her). I am altogether to blame for what has happened, 
and you niu.Nt listen to me. There has been a mistake, and before 1 go 
I wish to show you Fred in his true light. 

Ella. If yon want to eulogize Mr. Town, go to the lady who will 
lake most jdeasure in hearing it. 

Ralph. And who is that? 

Ell.\. .Mrs. Lcc. 



ACT TV. 61 

Halpu. Tliat lady has already a correct conception of his character, 
and values liim Ijislily. 

Ella. I've no doubt of it. 

Ralph. I am not only aware of her friendship, but also approve of 
it. 

Ella. Oh ! Tiien you are interested in this fair widow too ? 

Ralfu (calmlij). I have a right to be, since I propose mailing her mj 
wife. 

Ella {springs up). What! 

Ralph. I am prepared for your surprise, but let me tell you franklj', 
I am not prepared for any explanation. I have but one object in telling 
you this, Ella, to show you that you have wronged Mr. Town. 

Ella. I don't wish you to apologize for Mr. Town. The fact that 
you are his successful rival don't compel you to get him a wife, {crosses 
to fire.) 

Ralph. There was no question of rivalry between us, and as this may 
be our last interview, I must request you to respect my words. Fred 
Town is as true and noble a gentleman as lives, and far more honorable 
— than j-Qur brother. 

Ella {comes to him, fakes his hand). Ralph ! 

Ralph. It is true. Here, sit tiiere. Turn your face a waj'^ from mc. 
(scats her on sofa, stands k. of her) A man who has to confess a guilty se- 
cret should not look in the eyes of a pure woman. 1 had hoped to 
convince you without wholly exposing myself, but I will not sull'er a 
noble man to be compromised by ray act. This Mrs. Loe is not a widow. 
She is a noble girl with a secret in her life, and with which secret 1 am 
unworthilij connected. As I sank in the mire Fred Town came to that 
poor girl's rescue, and placed her feet upon firm ground. He stood by 
her as a friend, preserved her secret at the risk of his own happiness, 
and placed her in a position to reach my heart. Tliis is the solo interest 
Mr. Town has had in Mrs Lee ; an interest actuated through sympathy 
and continued through honor. 

Ella {sadly). And I not know. 

Music, plaintive, pp. Randall appears, c. 

Ralph. His loyalty to her secret made him appear disloyal to you. 
The sole cause of all this trouble stands before you — your unwortliy 
brother Don't look at me — I could not bear to go away with tlic sight 
of the scorn flashing in those eyes. Let me leave without a kiss, with- 
out even a i)rcssuie of the hand. I wish to carry with me, in my exile, 
the remembrance of your face as I saw it before you had learned to 
blush for me. Good-bye, Ella, my dear sister ; 1 dare not hope for 
sympathy — I caimot expect pardon. All I can ask is, that you will try 
and forget that the shadow of your brother's sin once raised a passing 
cloud between you and your love, {going, k.) 

Ella. Ralph, don't go ; I forgive you all. (she rushes to him, lie folds 
her in his arms, kisses her brow. Randall comes down, l. c.) 

Randall {stcrnli/). Ella, come here ! {she goes to him, slowly) i have 
no longer a son ; for the future you will forget that you ever had a 
brother. 

Ella. Oh, papa ! no— you don't 

Ran. I wish no comments upon my conduct, please. Leave us. \^goes 
down tojire, Ella ^o^s slowly to door, l., tarns, looking at Ralph.) 

Ella. Ralph, all my soul speaks to you in my last words. Good-bye. 

\Exit, D. L. Music stops. 



52 CLOUDS. 

Ran. {standing at fire). I see you have had the good taste to take your 
sisior into your confidence. 

Ralph \_v..). 1 was compelled to do so. 

Rax. The sympaliiics of a younji girl are easily excited, and as a man 
of I lie woiM I presume you know every note in tlie scale. 

Ralph. A man wlio is utterly defensive, sir, is unworthy your sarcasm. 

Ra.v. You are ri<;ht — accept my apology. From what I heard as I 
eiiie.e 1, I i)resume you are about to leave here. 

Ram'u. l)i) you wish me to remain 1 

Ran. That is bad taste, sir — I hate to have a man answer a question 
by .isUinsr another. 

Ralph. Well, sir, I leave here at once, since you drive me from the 

liotiso. 

Ran. I deny that ; you drive yourself out. 

Ralph. Very well, father; in either case I am readj' to go, and at 
once. 

Rax. One moment, please. 

Ralph. There is nothing further to be said, is there ? 

Ra.v. Yes, sir, there is sonjetliing further to be said. Ti)i8 — woman 
has dared to enter my house, and appears to set my authority at defi- 
ance; her influence over you is api)arent from tiiis letter, in which you 
grandly take leave of me, and regret your inability to follow my wishes, 
( 2Jrodnccs letter. ) 

Ralph. I wrote you that because I thought further words between us 
could do no good. 

Ran. Did I consider only my outraged feelings, I would never trouble 
myself to speak to you again ; but I have determined — I confess after a 
struggle — to have more consideration for you than you have ever had 
for me. 

Ralph {quickli/). Oh, father — will you forgive? 

Rax. Never, sir, while I have memory and will. You have forced me 
to break my word — you turn your back \\\wn Miss Adair, the daughter 
of my old friend, and a woman worthy, in every respect, to be your wife. 
You have destroyed the greatest wish of my life, and now propose to 
leave here witii the woman who has brought her shame across my door. 

Ralph. Any shame there may be in the matter, father, rests solely 
upon me. Knowledge and intention are necessary to every sin. This 
poor girl believed herself my wife ; is her soul less pure that she be- 
lieved a lie ! 

Ran. I decline to discuss this question with you, sir. Some time 
since you cliarged me, I believe, with not having faithfully performed 
my duty as a father. 

Ralph. For all that I may have said in a hasty moment, sir, I beg 
youi' pardon. 

Ran. You assert that your collegiate education will not supply you 
with the experience necessary to earn your bread ; but you will please 
remember tliat I educated you for the position of a man of wealth not 
called upon to earn your living. A loving father, proud of his son, is 
not likely to anticipate that boy's villainy, and make provision for his 
graduating in ciime. My respect for my word compels me to cast you 
out of my heart forever, but I will not leave you altogether a beggar. 
(erosses, n., sits at denlc.) 

Ralph {c ). What do you mean ? 

Rax. (writes in check-hook j. 1 mean that I will alone for my fault in 
educating y<ju so well, by placing j'ou in possession of a sum large 
enough to enable you to live until you can learn sufficient to earn your 



ACT IT. 53 

bread. Here is a check upon my bankers for $2,000. Take it. {tears 
check from book, rises — extenis it to him.) 

Ralph. I thank you. sir — but I prefer not. 

Ran. Wliat! you refuse 1 

Ralph. Yes, father, I refuse. In having the courage to do what is 
riglit, I am prepared to face the consequences. I am wilhng to work, 
but, while I liave health and strength, 1 will not beg. 

Ran. I'm not asking you to beg, sir. I give you this. Remember, it 
is all you will ever get from me. At my death this estate will he divided 
between my daughter and Miss Adair. Then taUe this, {icitli some emo- 
tion) C-)m?, R:ilpl) — I ivish yiu to hare it. 

Ralph. It is useless, sir; I will not accept one penny of your money 
unaccor.ipaiiied with your blessinsr. The fear of being deprived of my 
inheritanc3 has made me what I am ; the resolve to act without any 
thought of it has made me a free man. Faieweli, father — I am sorry I 
have not been to you a more worthy son. Do not quite curse me. Re- 
member that, by becoming the husband of Miss Adair, I Avould forever 
close the door of atonement to the woman I have wronged. Good-bye, 
father ; I will not forget you, though I start now upon a road that will 
separate us forever. 

Goes slowly to door., it. Fred enters, c. 

Ran. You absolutely refuse to take this then ? 

Ralph. Absolutely, sir. [Exit, d. l. 

Fred {ames clown, c). Is Ralph going away ? 

Ran. {sharply). Yes, sir — he's going away — have you any objections 1 
{going to door, r.) 

Fked. I have no right to object. 

Ran. In that case, sir, I must ask you not to trouble me with any 
questions. [Exit, d. r. 

Fred. There goes a modern edition of the paternal Brutus. 1 don't 
think playing the part of Sir Pandarus suits me. 1 have come to tlie 
conclusion that meddling in other people's business is not just tiie proper 
way of advnncing your own. That old gentleman will never forgive my 
connection with tliis matter. Confound it, he's hard as steel. Achilles 
was vulnerable in the heel, but this man appears all armor. 

Ella enters, d. l., Fred sees her, goes to table, sits n. of it, takes up book. 

Hem ! Now for it. 

Ella {comes down c, timidly). Mr. Town. 

Fhed. Did you speak to me 1 

Ella. Yes. 

FiiED. I thought I lieard you mention ray name — I wasn't quite sure 
thouoh — used to call me Fred, you know. 

Ella. Tiiat would be diflScult now. 

Fred. Well, I suppose you're out of practice. 

Ella. I — I might get in i)ractice again. 

Fri:d. That's true — so you might; 

Ella. Is your book interesting! 

Frkd. Very. 

Ella. If you did not hold it upside down you might find it more so. 

FiiED. Hem! Well, no — this story is dull — I always read a dull story 
upside down. 

Ella. Indeed. 



54 CLOUDS. 

Fred. Yes. You see the difficulty of interpreting one word makes it 
intorcsting to find the ineaiiinif of tlie next. 

Ella. I presume then, tliat's the way you read my letters. 

Fkkd. Well, no — I had trouble enough to read them anyway. 

Ella. Imleed ! 

FuED. You see. you had that horid habit of crossing and re-crossing 
the paper, making it difficult to tell where one sentence began and the 
other ended. 

Ella. They must have been terribly dull. 

Fked. On the contrary — But alas, they have gone from me, like a 
summer dream. 

Ella. Would you like to read them again ] {takes a package of letters 
from her pocket ; they are different from the first package, and are lied with 
a coni'iion string.) 

Frkd. Be delighted. 

Ella. There. ( places package tlmidlg on his lap.) 

Fred, (aside). Pro|)itious powers — JuriO relents. 

Eli. A. I want to e.vchange them. 

Fred. What for 1 

Ella {shglg). For yours. 

Fred. You sent mine back; I can't return them. 

Ella. Why not? 

FuED. I never keep rejected " MSS," so I burnt them. 

Ella. Oh, Fred ! (goes h.,in tears.) 

Frkd {rises). Yes, I burnt, them. The flame.s crackled amid the rose- 
colored paper; tlie forked ton^fui's darted out at me, mocking my hopes ; 
the black symbols that spoke my love vanished in the air, and nausht 
remained but the product of combustion, carbonic acid, and ashes. 
The cliemical element i could n<>t keep — it had gone to whisper my folly 
to the flowers ; but the ashes remained — I reverently collected them with 
a silver spoon and placed tiiem 

Eli.a. Where? 

Fri.d. In a snuff-box. [takes out hatidscmi' wu^-box.) 

Ella. You're launliiiia at me. 

Fi:ed. The sniiH-box is a new one ; I would not permit the odor of 
the nicotine leaf to cling around the embalmed remembrance of my love. 

Ella. If the letters are pone, what good are the ashes. 

Fred. \s a souvenir They servo to remind mo that I once gave a 
woman the power to ;hvow back in my teeth the vows of love penned 
by an honest hand. 

Ella. Give me my letters. 

Fi:i;d. No, I ll keep them, {puts them in his pocket.) 
Ella. Whore; in a snuti'-bo.x ? 

F;-;ed. Precisely. In their place I give you this. In this little casket 
rest the letters 1 once wrote to you, but in a changed form. Upon the 
lid I have inscribed the followinii beautiful elegy : — jeads from snuff-box.) 
Pandora gave to man a box. 

From out it youriL; hope dashes ; 
It leads a man until ho finds 
His love and hope are — ashes. 
Ella. You're making fun of me, and it's cruel; but it's always the 
way with you men; if a woman frowns, you are kneeling at her feet, 
but if she smiles, you are striking at her lieart. {sits on sofa, sobs.) 

FiiRD. And when she weeps, we are nestling by her side. You asked 
me for my letle:vs — take them. There, don't turn away ; I am in earnest. 
This little box is not elegant, but it is truthful, and it contains a lesson 
we may both profit by. Take it, Ella, and with it the assurance that my 



ACT IV. 55 

love, Phoenix-like, but springs rejuvenated from its — ashes, {kneels beside 
her, ) 

Ella {takes box). Fred, I've — I've been very naughty. 

FitED. Good! 

Ella. And I'm — I'm sorry now. 

Fred. Better! 

Eli-a. And I'll never do so any more. 

Fred. Best. 

Ella. You forgive me 1 

Fred. Fully. 

Ella. Oli, Fred! (falls in his arms.) 

Fked. Oh, Ella ! 

WiMBERLY and EoLA eii(er, c. Eola ffoes dotvn r., sulkily. Fred and 
Ella spring up. 

WiMBF.nLY (c.)- Bless me — what's all this 7 

Fked (l c). Rehearsal, sir ; we're practicing for private theatricals. 
(Ella crosses r , to Eola.) 

WiM. Well, sir, if you act as naturally as you rehearse, your perform- 
ance will be a success. Come here, I want to talk to you. {they stand by 
fire) 

Ella. Oh, dear, I'm so happy ! 

Eola {turns, sits sulkily at tahlr). Are you 1 Well, I'm glad some one's 
hapi>y herp. 

Ella. Why. what's the matter 1 

Eola. Why, I'm- I'm wretched. 

Ella. My poor darling! Your father has refused Mr. Sedley. 

Eola. No, he hasn't. 

Ella. No ? Then what is it 1 

EiiLA. Why, he's — he's put it off ever so long. 

Ella. What, the niarriase I 

Eola. Yes. Papa (old Albery that if he'd come to Chicago, set up 
in business, and ask for me again at the end of five years, then — he'd 
think of it ! 

Ella. And what did Mr. Sedley say ? 

Eola. Said he didn t think his father would let him. 

Ella. Wi'll, don't fret ; it will all come right. 

Eola. No, it won't. You can't expect a man to be true five years. 

Ella. Oh, yes, you can. When a man truly loves, he's one of nature's 
noblemen, and you can sa''ely trust him. 

Eola (looks iq), surprised). Gracious! you've changed your views won- 
derfully. 

Ella. Yes. I've been taking lessons in manology, and it's done me 
good. But come, let's go out in the park ; I ve lots to tell you. 

They go up, meeting Randall, toko enters, d. r., he bows coldly, goes down, 
sits at desk, writing. 

Eola. What's the matter with your father 1 
Ella. He's got the blues. 

Eola. How I pity him ! [Eola atid Ella go off, c. 

WiM. {'o Fr.KD). Now's our time. You go look to j-^our part of the 
work, I'll vouch for mine. 

Fred. I'll have all ready in five minutes. \Exit Feed, d. l. 

WiM. {back to fire). Busy, Walter'? 
BrANDALL {uniting). Not very. Why 1 



06 CLOUDS. 

WiM. I want to talk to you. 

Ran. Talk away; I can wn^e and listen. Nothing very serious, I 
hoi)e. 

WiM. Yes, it is serious. You've sent Ralph away. 

Ran. I thought it was your business y<)a wished to speak of. 

WiM. {(/oes c. ). Come, now. Walter, that's unkind. You and I have 
been old ivieiuls for years, and you know that 1 am interested in all tliat 
concerns your happiness. 

Ran. (places letter in envelope, directs it). I have abandoned all hope of 
happiness. 

WiM. Yes, that's it; just like most men. Drive nappmess away 
through your stubbornness, and then complain over baing wretched. 
Now, you are unhappy because you have abandoned your son. 

Rax. Excuse me, William, but this is a matter that concerns me alone. 
(rises, crosses, l.) 

WiM. (r. c ). There, you can't stop me by any display of dignity. 
I'm not only your fiiend, but I'm your sons friend, and I'm not going 
to stand by and see him sbuved out of tliis house without saying, at 
least, that it's a damned sliame. 

Ran. I consider myself the best judge in this matter, and, I believe, 
understand my duty, {sits on sofa.) 

WiM Duty ! duty be There, you shan't spoil my case by mauing 

me angry. Wiiat do yon call duty — sending your' son away because he 
can't mould his heart according to your fancy 1 

Ran. Before you appear in his defence you should know all the points 
in the case. 

Wi.M. I do know them, Walter ; I know that Ralph has acted wrong — 
confoundedly wrong ; but he has a plenty of good, solid stulf at bottom, 
and I don't want to see it turned to clay. 

Rax. If you know all, can you blnme me ? 

WiM. Certainly, 1 can. You may change iron into any shape you 
will, but you must heat it before you commence beating it with a ham- 
mer. You should take your boy by the hand, warm his henrt by the 
electric spavk of paternal syn)pathy, and try to lead him, not drive. 

Ran. I have no belief in the system of coaxing. A son's first duty 
is obedience. 

WiM. Very true, Walter ; but remember youth is rather hasty and 
7>romi)t to go wrong. A father may regret a son's yielding to tempta- 
tion, but he should not drive that son to, perhaps, worse deeds, by any 
uncalled for severity. 

Ran. 1 have explained to him my wishes, and he has seen fit to de- 
spise them. 

WiM. You're besging the question, Walter. You permit j'our selfish- 
ness and pride to blind you. 

Ran. (spriiiffs np). Sir ! 

WiM. There — don't jmnp — in severe cases tlie dr.ctor must use the 
knife. Let us look this tiling full in the face. In your selfish desire to 
have your wishes carried out, you forget the suffering that may be en- 
tailed upon another. Now, what is your son doing? lie is striving to 
make the oidy atonement in his power for a vile wrong to an innocent 
girl, and has thrown away his inheritance in order to act like an honor- 
al)le man. 

Ran. Look here — answer me plaiuly — what is it you would have mo 
do 7 

WiM. Reconcile yourself to the inevitable, pardon your son, and re- 
ceive him here with his wife. 

Ran. You forget yourself, sir — that woman {crosses, sits at talle.) 



ACT IV. 57 

Music — Stella appears at unndoiv, comes slowhj doum, c. 

WiM. That, lady, sir, whose puritj' and sufFeriii:^ entitles her at least 
to respect, [takes her handi She has been an innocent party in all of this. 
She has come liere to seek your son, but before leaving she wishes to 
ask your forgiveness, [nods to Stella, ivho goes r. c, kneels at side of 
Randall.) 

Stel. To beg it, sir, on ray knees. 

Ran. (rises). Yon here ? 

WiM. I requested Mr. Town to send this lady here, feeling that as a 
gentleman, you would at least listen to her. 

Ra\. My letter to you, madam, I believe conveyed my w'shes. 

Stel, {rises). I could not resist the opportunity, sir, of seeing you, 
if onl)' for once, in ray true character, and asking your pardon for my 
deception. 

Ran. I must ask you to spare me anj- supplications. 

Stel. I do not intend to supplicate, sir — I wish simply to Tnake you a 
confession of the whole truth, and sliow you that I am at least worthy 
of your sympathy. 

Rax. I can really see no good in all this, (sits against l. of table.) 

Stel. Do not refuse me at least the satisfaction of knowing tliat you 
have heard the whole truth ? I have entered your house under a fals3 
name, and for that deception I ask your pardon. In the desire to right 
myself, I have wronged you. (Wimbhrly stands l., at fire, listening.) 

Ran. I am sorry you wish to dwell upon the subject. 

Stel. Do not think harslily of me; I am only weakly striving to jus- 
tify myself in your eyes. My father was a Virginian, residing on a lit- 
tle property near Noniini Court House, Westmoreland County. There I 
was born. My mother died when I was very young, and my fatlier, 
impoverished by the war, removed to Richmond, where he obtained 
some little employment as a civil engineer. Some years after, receiving 
a lucrative offer to go to England, he left this country, taking me with 
him. 

Ran. All this is useless 

Sti:l. Oh, do not refuse to listen to me, sir — the only defence I can 
make, is to tell you the plain story of my life. 

Ran. (slightly moved]. Well — -ao on. 

Stel. We reached London in safety, and after a few days rest started 
for our final destination, Manchester. The train started, and father and 
I were alone in tlie carriage in which the guard had locked us. It was 
a stoiMny night, the rain poured in torrents ; but the train da^h^d 
on, with what seemed to me, like reckless speed. My father fell asleep, 
and I was left alone with my thoughts. The darkness without was im- 
]ienetrable, that within was only relieved by the feeble light of a small 
lamp. The only sound was the monotonous rumble of the wheels over 
their iron bed. The solitude became painful — I was afraid — my mind 
began to wander — I thougiit I heard strange whispers ; faces appeared 
laughing at me througli the windows — I leaned over to arouse my father 
from his sleep, when there was a violent rocking of the carriage, a sud- 
den jerk — a shriek from the engine, a cry of human agony — and then — 
all was darkness. 

Ran. (interested). An accident. 

Stel. Wlien I recovered my senses, I was lying upon the side of the 
road, a man was standing near me, holding a lantein in his hand ; but 
at my side, kneeling upon the wet groiuid, was a j'ounger man, who held 
my wounded head tenderly u])on his knee. I looked up wondering in 
his face, and I saw for the first time, sir — your son. 



6?S CLOUDS. 

Ran. Well. 

Stel. All was a^ain a blank, and when after days of delirium, I 
crawled back to stren^fth, I learned tbat I was alone in a strange l;uid, 
for in the darkness that came upon me that fatal night, I had lost my 
all, my father. 

Ran. (moved). Go on. 

Stel. The only face that was not strange to me, was the face of your 
son. He had remained to guard me, had paid for the lodging in which 
I slept, and when he learned my utter helplessness, gradually breathed 
into my ear the intere.st he felt in my fate, and— offered me his hand. 

Ran. {sadly). Which you accepted. 

Stel. What was I to do ? I was alone, without money, without 
friends. H3 had seen to the interment of my poor father's body, my 
father torn from me in my sleep, and buried without a dauirhler's pres- 
ence or a dauizhter's Kiss. It was your son who found him a grave, 
and paid him the last testimony of respect. It was your son who stood 
by me in my helplessness, tended me with the gentle care of a woman, 
and when in return for his devotions he asked me for my love — oh, sir, 
can you wonder that I said, yes ? 

Ran. Go on — go on. 

Stel. I knew him but as Ralph Gordon. He spoke of his father as a 
man of pride and wealth, and urged upon me a secret marriage, to be 
only aciuiowledged when he had prevailed upon his father to accept 
his bride. I loved him and accepted, and we were married at night in 
a little chapel near my father's grave. 

Ran. And then ? 

Stel. We returned to this country, where in a little homo in Eaten- 
town, I found perfect happiness, until that night when he fled, leaving 
behind him the penned confession of his sin. His letter would have 
killed me, but the thought 'of my child made me strong. In my utler 
need, Heaven sent me one friend, who listened to my plea, ond brought 
me here. There, sir, is the worthless certificate I received at ray fa- 
ther's grave. I came here to ask your son for justice; I have told you 
all, and though I liave taken from you your boy — oh, sir — have I not 
a right to him '! (sinks on her knees.') 

Ran. {rises, raises licr). Rise, madam. I confess I have done 3'ou 
gross injustice in my thoughts, and I am sorry for it. I find my son 
was not led into error, but has been a deliberate villain. 

Stel. He wished me to tell you all. He is sorry — he is seeking to 
atone. 

Rax. His only atonement will be in making you his wife ; but in do- 
ing that he separates himself from me forever. 

WiM. Why, confound it, Walter, you don't mean 

Ran. 1 must request you not to interrupt me, sir. I am not so utterly 
heartless as you imagine. 1 have here a letter {shows the one A- wrot' at 
desk) to my bankers, placing the sum of $5,000 to his credit ; if he does 
not use it, it will go to his child. I will have no hard thoughts for you, 
madam, but my son has deceived me, and I will not break my word — 
at my death my estate will be equally divided between my daughter, 
Elh, and the daughter of my old friend, Adair. 

SrrcL. {(•■dml;/). You cannot leave anything to his child. 

Ran. What do you mean ! 

Stel. 1 mean that the child of J.Ir. Adair is — dead. 

Ran. {starts). What! (Wimberly stands, qnietlij, l.) 

8tel. I speak the truth, sir ; the lady who is here bears his name, but 
is not bis child. 



ACT IT. 59 

Ran. Pray, madam, do you expect me to believe this 1 {rings hell on 
table.) 

WiM. (quickhi). What are you going to do 1 

Ran. Summon Miss Adair to answer this charge. 

Stel. That will be lier triumph, sir, for I liave no proof. 

Ran. Then why do you dare to accuse her l 

Stel. To save you from the deception that she has practiced upon 
you for years. I had proof in Mr. Buddies; he has disappeared. Now, 
sir, grant me one favor — the only one — the last. Leave me alone wilh 
that woman, but overhear our conversation — if she does not betray her- 
self, do with me as you will. 

Ran. You wish to make me a spy ] 

WiM. If she is really Miss Adair there can be no injury to her ; if she 
is not, she ought to be found out. 

Stel. I know she is deceiving you, sir. I can only hope to unmask 
her in this way — grant me the trial. 

Ran. {slight jjnusej. I consent. 

Servant otters, d. r. 

Robert, tell Miss Adair I wish to see her. 

WiM. Hem ! No — say a lady, but not what lady. 

Ran. \"ery well — do so. [Servant exits, d. r. 

Come, sir, let us go. I am consenting to an arrangement, madam, that 
I am ashanieil of, but 1 must know how much tiuth there is in all this. 
{ffocs iij} and ojf, c.) 

WiM. {as he goes up, to Stella). Keep up j'our courage ; for Heaven's 
sake, don't fail. \Exit, c. 

Stkl. Now that what I wished for is in my grasp, I tremble so I can 
hardly stand. Oh, if I but knew how to choose my words. If I can 
only save that poor old man from this adventuress, I will at least have 
done some good. If Mr. Town had but obtained some proof — if but one 

line 

Cora enters, d. r. — starts, Stella s'ands l. c. 

Cora. Robert told me a lady was waiting— he must have been mis- 
taken. 

Stel. {calmly). It is I who wished to see you, Miss Adair. 

Cora. You will permit me to confess my surprise at seeing you here 1 

Stel. I am heie because I have something to say to you alone. 

Cora. You can have nothing to say to me that others should not hear. 

Stel. 1 will tell you. 

Cora. Thank you — I don't take servants into my confidence. 

Strl. (calinly\. Are you sure of that ! 

CoiiA. I believe I understand my own character. 

Ste:.. I am glad of that — my task will be less difiicuit. 

Cora. Your pirdon. We have nothing in conmion, and I refuse to 
listen to your communication. We do not stand upon eiLual ground ; 
and, until you leave this house, 1 will seelj the i)rotection of my room. 
If you have anything to say to me, I prefer it should be in writing. 
{going.') 

Stel. {quiethj). And to whom shall I address my letter — Cora Adair, 
or — Jane Waters .' 

Cora [slight start). I am at a loss to understand you. 

Sti'L. If you will remain I will take pleasure in explaining. 

Cora. Thank you, but I can hardly feel enough interest in it to re- 
main longer in your presence. 



60 CLOTTDS. 

Stel. Tou prefer, then, that I should taice my information to Mr. 
Randall ? 

Cora {comes down, r. c). That implies a threat. Pray don't misun- 
derstand me. I desired to free myself from your presence, not to fly 
from your infoi mation ; as you appear to believe that I am intimidated, 
however, I will remain, {looks quickhj around, and sits l. of tabic) Please 
spare me any prosy oration, and make your accusation as brief as possi- 
ble. 

Stel. I have no accusation to make ; I simply wish to tear a leaf 
from the past, and hand it to you as your passport to another sphere of 
action. 

Cora. My dear madam — I will call you madam, — while being concise 
pray be intelligible. I have a horror of riddles. 

Stel. I will endeavor to be plain ; but first let me make a confession. 
When I first saw you I disliked you. At that time I knew nothing 
against you, and I had no just cause for my antipathy. It was an un- 
worthy feeling, springing from purely selfish motives ; and, as 1 wronged 
you then, I now ask your pardon. 

Cora. Don't trouble yourself to apologize. 

Stel. I do so in justice to my better nature. At the time to which I 
allude you intimated that you would drive me from this house ; I will 
be less harsh tlian you, and simply request you to leave. 

Cora. Request me to leave 1 Really I must do you the justice to 
admire your assurance. 

Stkl. I ask you to leave this house in order that you may be spared 
the pain of having its master tell you to go. 

Cora {rises). Madam, you go too far! 

Stel. If you will kindly remiin seated I will give you my reasons. 

Cora. Well, in doing so, pray spare me your insidts. [sits.) 

Stel. If wliat I say insults you, you can only blame yourself. I 
sugaested to you the propriety of leaving this house, because you fill a 
position here to which you have no claim. 

Cora. Go on. You may excite my contempt ; I will not permit you 
to arouse my anger. 

Stel. As you are evidently determined to test my power, T must 
trouble you to listen to a short narration of facts. Mr. Randall had, in 
his youth, a friend to whom he was ardently attaciied. ]• ailure in busi- 
ness drove that friend into exile, and for many years all trace of him 
was lost, until one day a letter was brou^lit by a young girl, which 
proved to be ii message fr>m the dead. From that letter Mr. Randall 
learned that liis friend had died in India, with but little means, on<l con- 
signed to him, as the bearer of the missive, his only child. It breathed, 
in sad tones, the storj' of liis misfortunes, the death of his wife, the loss 
of his property, and concluded with the request of a dying man, that 
his old friend would not forget the pledge in their youth as to the future 
of their children. 

Cora. I am thoroughly acquainted with my history, I believe. 

Stel. That is but the surface of the story ; I will now go to the 
depths. Mr. Randall received that child as a sacred trust, gave her a 
home, surrounded her with luxury, and, in the desire to carry out the 
promise of his youth, sought tt) make her the wife of his son. 

Randall ««^ Wimberly appear at tcindow. 

Cora. We are still on the surface ; all this is well known. 

Stel. True ; but it is not so well known that Mr, Randall has been 



ACT TV. 61" 

shamefully deceived in all this ; that he has never seen the daughter of 
his friend 

CoKA. That is stran2;e, since I am here. 

Stel. [I'sidc). Oh, will I never brsak through her coldness ! {aloud) 
It is nut strange when the facts are known. Tlie daughter of Adair 
died a short time after her fatlier, leaving her letter in the hands of one 
unscrupulous enough to use it. 

Cora. If this is true — who am I? 

Stkl. Jane Waters ! sheltered by that poor, dead girl, that you might 
one day betray her father's friend. 

Cora [strives to be calm). This is really becoming interesting. Pray, 
procoeJ. 

Stul. {aside). Oh, I shall fail — she is ice. [aloud) Have I given you 
sufficient reasons whj* you should leave here ? 

Cora. You have given reasons enough, if they were true — unfortu- 
nately they lack one essential element — proof. 

Stel. 1 would scarcely make such a statement if I were unable to 
prove it. 

Cora [aside). It's impossible — she can't have it! [aloud) And what is 
the nature of this proof .' 

Stel. The testimony of the dead man's confidential clerk, Mr. Bud- 
dies. 

Cora {relieved). In order to make his testimony available, you must 
first produce him. 

Stel. {quicldy). You have forced him to fly. 

Cora. It does not matter, since he has gone. 

Stel. His absence is evidence of my truth. 

Cora. And what does it prove ? Let us look at this matter fairly. 
Wo are rivals for a gentleman's love ; you assume the part of accuser — 
you have no proof — it is simply a question of veracity — your word 
against mine. Now, when you consider our relative positions, which of 
lis, do you think, stands the best chance of being believed 7 (Randall 
comes down, c, very slowly.) 

Stel. My word would count but little, but a letter 

Cora (starts). What letter 1 

Stel. [excitedly). Your letter to Mr. Buddies — promising a reward 
for his silence. 

Coha {starts tip, violently excited). It's false I he burnt [stnps, coU' 

fused.) 

Stel. {turns quicldy). The test is over, sir; has it failed? {2}oints to 
Cora) 

Cora {starts). Mr. Randall! {pause. Handall stands ste>-nly, c.) 

Ran. I am grieved to have been a witness to tliis scene — more so at 
its unexpected termination. After what has occurred, it is hardly 
necessary for me to request you to retire. 

Cora. Why, you can't believe all this — let her produce the letter. 

Stel. Mr. Buddies told Mr. Town of the letter ; I have never seen it. 

Ran. No further proof is necessaiy. Your manner throughout the 
controversy has been a tacit avowal of guilt. Your presence hereafter 
will be painful to me, and I must request you at your earliest conven- 
ience, to leave this house, {sinks on sofa, l., agitated.) 

Cora. Very well, sir; I will not supplicate. As you prefer the word 
of that woman to the assertion of a lady, 1 trust she will compensate 
you for my absence, [aside, at d. e.) Failure at last — and through her! 

[Exit, D. R. 



62 CLOUDS. 

Ralph, Feed, Ella, and Eola, ajjpear at window, Wimberlt, havinfj 
beckoned to then), gois down, l. of sofa. 

WiM. Walter — my ol 1 frieml — they are here. 

Ran. Don't speak — look at me — I am a helpless old man, deceive 1 u i 
all sideo — can you ask me after this to trust in human love ! {music, pp., 
pi tintivc.) 

Stel. {comes slowly to sofa). We arc going now, sir. I have done my 
duty, yet even in that I have caused you pain. I have exposed a wn- 
maii whom you loved, and I have robbed j^ou of a son in whom you ui.ce 
had pride. A poor and friendless girl, 1 have been thrown by fate 
within the sha low of your life, and my presence has caused nothing but 
pain. As a mother, stru2gling for her child, 1 may have your sym|iq- 
thy — but, as the wife of your son, I dare not ask your blessing. Fare- 
well, sir ; you have forbidden us to love you, but 1 at least will pray for 
you {goes up sioivly, r ) 

WiM. Walter, crush down this pride — for Heaven's sake call her back ! 

Randall sits, (jreatly moved, his head bowed. Ralpii comes slowly dow.n. 

Ralph. Father! (RxyvAhh slightly starts) Let me caW you so the last 
time. 1 am about to leave here — perhaps foiever. 1 am going, hand in 
hand, with the womin I have wronged. She has told you all I have 
been guilty of ; you know how much I have to alone. I have been to 
you in everj- way unworthy — but try and forgive, if you can't forget. I 
am not pleading now for the sake of your m-^ney — I am no longer afraid 
of the future; but, in order that my life may not be altogether clouded 
by the remembrance of your sternness, say to me but once, as a father 
to a son — " God bless you — good-bye." {extends his hand — RAXDALLr/ses, 
shaking with emotion, and, without looking at Ralph, takes his hand.) 

Ran. My boy, 1 cannot say — good-bye— I can only say — bring to mo 
yo'i)- wife. 

SriiL. {rushes doion tohim ivith a cry). Father! 

Ran. My chdd. 

Stella kneels at Randall's feet; he stands jj. c, tvith left hand on her 
head the rigid hand extended to FtXhPi, wh.'> .••tands behind her; Wim- 
Bi'HiLY stands at fire, rubbing his hands ; Frkd at window, seizes Ella 
in his armi ; Eola turns fruiii thev.i tcith a pout, and sits at piano — 
plays. Ficture. 

CURTAiy. 



SYNOPSIS. 
The scene of Act I. is laid in the garden of a small cottage in Eatentown, N. 
J., known as Gordon Villa. The proprietor is a Mb. Kalph Gordon, who occupies 
it in company with liis wile, Stella, and child. He is apparently a man of leisure, 
having, however, a secret, which is as much a mystery to his wife as to his neigh- 
bors—viz , the source whence he derives his income. Making periodical visits (o 
New York, lie remains away but a short time and returns always with plenty of 
cash. The fact tluit he is known in that city by another name is first intimated to 
Stklla by Miss 1'bim, an inquisitive old maid, and the certainty of its truth is subi 
eequeutly confirmed by Fbso Town, whose appearance on the scene evidently causes 



CLOUDS. O-J 

the husband great uneasiness. The -wife bein^ sent away, nn interview between 
Fked and Ralph reveals the fact that the father of the latter has but just learned 
of his residence in Jersey and of the deception he is practising. A letter brou'^lit by 
FuKD commands his instant return home ; and, awed by the paternal summons, 
Ealph flies from Jersey, leavint? a few hasty lines as explanation to his wife. Mr. 
Billy Buddles, who is spying in Eatentown for a certain purpose, obtains posses- 
sion of the letter left by Ralph, and it is from his lips Etklla first hears of her hus- 
band's flight. The letter left for her reveals all his baseness, and informs her tliat 
their marriage was a mockery— that she is not his wife. In the moment of her 
grief Frf.d Town appears and offers her his friendship, and gives the real name of 
Ralph Goudon, as Ralph Randall, son of AValter Randall of New York. The 
certainty of being utterly deceived, arouses all her strengtli, and accepting the prof- 
fered friendship of Town, resolves to make herself in the eyes of man what she is in 
the eyes of Heaven— Ralph Randall's wife. 

The second act takes place in the park of Mr. Randall's residence on the Hud- 
son. The curtain rises on an amusing collection of characters interrupted by the 
return of Fred Town from his sketching trip. Mb. Randall being in quest of a 
housekeeper, Fred brings Stella to fill that position, introducing her as Mrs. Lee. 
She is received by Cora Adair, a cold and haughty woman, with disdain. Cora, 
who is the protege of Randall, is designed by liim as the future wife of his son. 
Securing the place, however, she again meets Bcddles, who is Randall's man of 
business, but he is silent as to her identity, being under the influence Fred Tows. 
Mh. Randall informs Coba of his son's expected visit, and assures her that before 
his departure their engagement will be an established fact. During this time Ella, 
Ra.ndall's daughter, who is engaged to Fred, becomes jealous of his apparent at- 
tentions to the new housekeeper, and thereby seriously endangers Stella's position. 
The arrival of Ralph is followed by his proposal to Cora, which is overheard by 
Stella .and Town, closing the act witli an effective tableau. 

Act III. passes in the drawing room at Mr. Randall's villa. Mrs. Malvernon, 
tbe aunt ot Fred Town, calls on Ella and Cora, hrin;?ing witli her Miss Prim, who 
is i)aying her a visit. Stella suddenly caters in her c)iaracter of housekeeper, 
meets Miss Prim, and the surprise of that Iidy convinces Cora that there is a secret 
connected with Stella's past life. Miss Prim, yieldin'^ to Stella's wishes, refuses 
to speak, and the visitors depart without Cora's curiosity being gratified. Cora 
has, liowevcr, seen enough to convict Stella of deceit, and knowing of Ralph's res- 
idence in Jersey tlirough the aid of Bcddles, arrives at a shrewd guess of the truth. 
Stella confesses to Fred Town the result of Miss Prim's appearance, and it is 
agreed that Stella must depart in order to avoid the dismissal -which Cora will be 
certain to obtain from Mb. Randall. At the moment she is preparing for her de- 
parture, she is suddenly brought face to face with her husband. An explanation, 
takes place, and to his horror he discovers that the housekeeper he has heard of as 
Mrs. Lee is the woman he has so basely wronged. Carried away by lier feelings, 
Stella pleads with him to atone for his f.iult — she speaks of the old home and the 
old happiness, and with all a mother's love for her boy, begs of the man who should 
be her husband to give that boy a name. At first hesitatini', he is upon the point of 
relenting, when Cora, who has overheard all, appears between them, giving to 
Stella a letter from Mr. Randall, dismissing her from the house. Ralpu sinks 
back, and the curtain falls on a powerful and affecting tableau. 

In the fourtli and last act the scene remains the same as Act III. Ralph, having 
resolved to atone for his fault by marrying Stella, confesses all to his sister, and 
bids her farewell. His father, in liis blind desire to see his son the husband of Cora, 
the child of liis old friend Adair, resolves never to forgive him, ami, candidly inform- 
ing Ralph of his intention to disinherit him, offers him two thousand dollars. This 
Ralph refuses to accept, and bids liis father farewell. At tliis point, Mr. Wimeer- 
LY, who has been the guest of Randall, endeavors lo mitigate the anger of the 
stem old parent, and secures a meeting between him and Stella. She tells him 
the story of ber life— reveals tbe whole truth, and compels tbe old man to admit hex 



64 CLOUDS. 

entire innocence. "While confessing that his son is bound in honor io make her his 
■wife, he still refuses to see either of them again, and expresses his determination to 
divide his estate between his daughter, Ella, and Cora, the child of his old friend 
Adair. Stella, having obtained a full knowledge of Coba's past life through Fred 
Town's influence over Bl'ddles, desires to be left alone with her, and the old man, 
beiii:,' a listener at that interview, discovers to his profound dismay that he has been 
doubly decL-iveJ, and that the giil he lias loved and sheltered as the daughter of his 
old friend Adair is but an impostor and a cheat. In the moment of his anguish at 
this revelation, his son and Stella come to take their leave. The last remnants of 
his pride causes liim a momentary struggle, but the feeling of the father rises to the 
surface, and all is forgiven. There are several other characters not material to the 
development of the plot, but being closely interwoven with its incidents, make an 
agreeable introduction. 



^^ 



^ 



/ 



DK WITT'S ACTING PLAYS (Continued). 



Lancashire Lass, melodrama, 5 acts.l3 3 
Larkins' Love Letters, farce, 1 act. . 3 2 

L'Article 47, drama, 3 acts 11 5 

Liar (The), comedy, 2 acts 7 2 

Life Chase, drama, 5 acts 14 5 

Living Statue (The), farce, 1 act 3 2 

Little Annie's Birthday, farce, 1 act. 2 4 

Little Rebel, farce, 1 act 4 3 

Little Ruby, drama, 3 acts 6 6 

Locked In, comedietta, 1 act 2 2 

Lockedin with a Lady, sketch, 1 act. 1 1 

Locked Out, comic scene 1 2 

Lodgers and Dodgers, farce, 1 act.. 4 2 
Leap Year, musical duality, 1 act. . . 1 1 

Marcoretti, drama, 3 acts 10 3 

Maria and Magdalena, play, 4 acts . 8 6 
Marriage at Any Price, farce, 1 act. 5 3 
Master Jones' Birthday, farce, 1 act. 4 

Maud's Peril, drama, 4 acts 5 

Midnight Watch, drama, 1 act 8 

Milky White, drama, 2 acts 4 

Miriam's Crime, drama, 3 acts 5 

Model of a Wife, farce, 1 act 3 

Money, comedy, 5 acts 17 

Mr. Scroggins.'farce, 1 act 3 

Mr. X., farce, 1 act 3 

My Uncle's Suit, farce, 1 act 4 

My Wife's Diary, farce, 1 act 3 1 

My Wife's Out, farce, 1 act 2 2 

My Walking Phuto-raph, musical 

duality, 1 act 1 1 

Never Reckon Your Chickens, etc., 

farce, 1 act 3 4 

New Men and Old Acres, comedy, 3 8 5 

Nobody's c hild, drama, 3 acts 8 3 

Noemie, drama, 2 acts 4 4 

No Name, drama, 5 acts 7 5 

Not a Bit Jealous, farce, 1 act 3 3 

Not So Bad as We Seem, play, 5 acts. 14 3 

Not Guilty, drama, 4 acts 10 6 

Not Such a Fool as He Looks, drama, 

3 acts 5 

Nothing Like Paste, farce, 1 act 3 

No Thoroughfare, drama, 5 acts and 

prologue 13 

Off the Stage, comedietta, 1 act 3 

On Bread and Water, farce, 1 act. . . 1 

Only a Halfpenny, farce, 1 act 2 

Only Somebody, farce, 1 act 4 

One too Many for Him, farce, 1 act. 2 

£100,000, comedy, 3 acts 8 

Orange Blo-soms, comedietta, 1 act. 3 
Orange Girl, drama, in prologue 

and 3 acts 18 

Ours, comedy, 3 acts 6 

Our Clerks, farce, 1 act 7 

Our Domestics, comedy farce, 2 acts 6 
Our Heroes, military play, 5 acts. . .24 
Out at Sea, drama in prologue and 

4 acts 16 

Overland Route, comedy, 3 acts 11 

Peace at Any Price, farce, 1 act 1 

Peep o' Day, drama, 4 acts 12 

Peggy Green, fane, 1 act 3 10 

Petticoat Parliament, extravaganza, 

in one act 15 24 

Photographic Fix, farce, 1 act 3 2 

A COMPLETE 



No. M. r. 

61. Plot and Passion, drama, 3 acts 7 3 

138. Poll and Partner Joe, burlesque, 1 

act 10 3' 

110. Poppleton's Predicaments, farce, 13 6 

50. Porter's Knot, drama, 2 acts 8 2 

59. Post Boy, drama, 2 acts 5 3 

95. Pretty Horse-Breaker, farce, lact.. 3 10 

181 and 182. Queen Mary, drama, 4 acts.38 8 

1,57. Quite at Home, comedietta, 1 act. . . 5 2 
196. Queerest Courtship (The), comic op 

eretta, 1 act 1 1 

132. Race for a Dinner, farce, 1 act 10 

183. Richelieu, play, 5 acts 16 3 

38. Riglitful Heir, drama, 5 acts 10 2 

77. Roll of the Drum, drama, 3 acts 8 4 

13. Ruy Bias, drama, 4 acts 12 4 

194. Rum, drama, 3 acts 7 4 

195. Rosemi Shell, travesty, 1 act, 4 

scenes 6 3 

158. School, comedy, 4 acts 6 6 

79. Sheep in Wolf's Clothing, drama, 17 5 

37. Silent Protector, farce, 1 act 3 2 

35. Silent Woman, farce, 1 act 3 1 ' 

43. Sisterly Service, comedietta, 1 act. . 7 2 
6. Six Months Ago, comedietta, 1 act. 2 1 

10. Snapping Turtles, duologue, 1 act.. 1 1 

26. Society, comedy, 3 acts 16 5 

78. Special Performances, farce, 1 act.. 7 3 
31. Taming a Tiger, farce, 1 act 3 

1.50. Tell-Tale Heart, comedietta, 1 act. . 1 2 

120. Tempest in a Teapot, comedy, 1 act. 2 1 
146. There's no Smoke Without Fire, 

comedietta, 1 act 1 

83. Thrice Married, personation piece; 

lact 6 1 

42. Time and the Hour, drama, 3 acts.. 7 3 

27. Time and Tide, drama, 3 acts and 

prologue 7 5 

133. Timothy to the Rescue, farce, 1 act. 4 2 
153. 'Tis Better to Live than to Die, 

farce, 1 act 2 1 

134. Tompkins the Troubadour, farce, 13 2 
29. Turning the Tables, farce, 1 act. ... 5 3 

168. Tweedie's Rights, comedy, 3 acts.. 4 2 

126. Twice Killed, farce, 1 act 6 3 

56. Two Gay Deceivers, farce, 1 act 3 

123. Two Polls, farce, 1 act 4 4 

198. Twin Sisters (The), comic operetta, 

1 act 3 1 

162. Uncle's Will, comedietta, 1 act 2 1 

106. Up for the Cattle Show, farce, 1 act. 6 3 

81. Vandyke Brown, farce, 1 act 3 3 

124. Volunteer Review, farce, 1 act 6 6 

91. Walpole, comedy, 3 acts 7 2 

118. Wanted, a Young Lady, farce, 1 act. 3 

44. War to the Knife, comedy, 3 acts. . . 5 4 
105. Which ofthe Two? comedietta, lact 2 10 

2 
4 



98. Who is Who? farce, 1 act 3 

12. Widow Hunt, comedy, 3 acts 4 

5. William Tell with a Vengeance, 

burlesque 

136. Woman in Red, drama, 3 acts and 

prologue 6 

161. Woman's Vows and Mason's Oaths, 

4 acts 10 

11. Woodcock's Little Game, farce, 2 4 
54. Young Collegian (Cantab.), farce, 1 3 



8 2 



DESCRIPTIVE CATALOGUE 



of DE WITT'S ACTING PLAYS AND DE WITT'S 
ETHIOPIAN AND COMIC DRAMAS , containing Plot, Costume, Scenery, 
Time of Representation and every other information, mailed free and post paid. Address, 
ROBERT M. DE WITT, 33 Rose Street, New York. 



DE WITT'S ETHIOPIAN & COMIC DRAMAS. 

Nothing so Hiormtgh and complete in the way of Ethiopian and Comic Dramas has ever 
been printed as those that appear in the following list. Not only are (he plots excellent, the 
characters droll, the incidents funny, the language humorous, but all the situations, by-play, 
positions, pantomimic business, scenery, and tricks are so plainly set dotvn and clearly ex^ 
plained, that the-merest novice could put any of them on the stage. Included in this catalogn 
are all the most laughable and effective pieces of their class ever produced. 

**♦ In ordering, please copy the figures at the commencement ofeachplay, which indicai 
the number of the piece in " Dk Witt's Ethioi'Ian and Comic Drama." 

tW" Any of the following Plays sent, jmstage free, on receipt of price — 15 Cents 
Each. 

Address, ROBERT M. DE WITT, 

jyo. 33 liose Sir eel, JVew York 

^" The figure following the name of the Play denotes the number of Acts. The 
Sgures in the columns indicate the number of characters.— M. male; F. female. 
#** Female characters are generally assumed by males in these plays. 

No. M. 

94. Julius the Snoozer, burlesque, 3 

scenes 7 

1. Last of the Mohicans,! scene 3 

18. Live Injun, sketch, 4 scenes 4 

35. Laui;luns Gas. sketch, 1 scene 6 

37. Lucky Job, farce, 2 scenes 3 

60. Lost Will, sketch, 1 scene 4 

90. Lunatic (The), sketch, 1 scene 3 

8. Mutton Trial, sketch, 2 scenes 4 

19. Malicious Trespass, sketch, 1 scene. 3 

44. Musical Servant, sketch, 1 scene... 3 

96. Midnight Intruder (Thei, 1 scene.. 6 

101. Molly' Moriarty, Irish musical 
sketch, 1 scene 1 

49. Nightin a Strange Hotel, 1 scene 2 

23. Obeying Orders, sketch, 1 scene... 2 
27. One Hundredth Night of Hamlet, 

sketch, 1 scene 7 

30. One Night in a Bar Room, sketch, 

1 scene V 

76. One, Two. Three, sketch, 1 scene.. 7 

9. Policy Players, sketch, 1 scene 7 

57. Ponipcvy's Patients, interlude, 2 

scene's 6 

65. Porter's Troubles, sketch, 1 scene.. 6 1 

66. Port Wine vs. Jealousy, 1 scene.. 2 1 
87. Pete the. Peddlar, negro and Irish 

slictch, 1 scene 4 

sketch, 1 scene 2 1 

91. Painter's Apprentice (The), 1 scene 5 
9a. Polar Hear (Tlie,) fared scene 5 

14. Recniitiiiu Office, sketch, 2 scenes. 5 
26. Rival Tenants, sketch, 1 scene 4 

45. Kcinittatice from Home, 1 scene... 6 

55. Kii;i.'iMg a Purchase, 1 scene 2 

81. Rival .Vrtists, sketch, 1 scene 3 

7. Stupid Servant, sketch, 1 scene 2 

13. Streets of New York, sketch, 1 scene 6 

15. Sam's Courtship, farce, 1 scene 2 1 

80. Scenes on the Mississippi, sketch, 2 

scenes 6 

84. Serenade (The), sketch, 2 scenes... 7 
1(H). Three Chiefs (The), sketch, 2 scenes 6 

102. Three, A. M., sketch, 1 scene 3 1 

75. Weston the Walkist, Dutch sketch, 

1 .scene 7 1 

93. What Shall I Take ? sketch, 2 scenes 8 1 

97. Who's the Actor? farce, 1 scene... 4 
99. Wrong Woman in the Right Place 

(Thel, farce, 2 scenes 3 1 

85. Young Scamp (The), sketch, 1 scene 3 



M. F. 

African Pox, burlesque, 2 scenes. . .• 5 
Black Chap from Whitechapel, 

eccentric sketch, 1 scene 4 

Black Chemist, sketcli, 1 scene 3 

Black Kv'd William, 2 scenes 4 1 

Bruised and Cured, sketch, 1 scene. 2 

Big .Mistake, sketch, 1 scene 4 

Bad Whiskey, sketch, 1 scene 2 1 

Baby Klepluint, sketch, 2 scenes... 7 1 

Bogus ludian, sk<'tch, 4 scenes 5 2 

Barney's Courtship, musical Irish 

sketch, 1 scene 1 1 

Bogus Talking Machine, Dutch 4 
Coal Heavers' Revenge, 1 scene. . 6 

Cremation, sketch, 2 scenes 8 1 

Da<;uerreotypes, sketch 3 

Draft (The), sketch. 1 act, 2 scenes. 6 
Damon and Pythias, burlesque, 2 

scenes 5 1 

Darkey's Stratagem, sketch, 1 act. . 3 1 
Dutchman's Gliost, Dutch sketch, 

1 scene 4 1 

Dutch Justice, Dutch s\etch, 1 

scene 11 

Eh y What is it ? sketch, 1 scene. . . 4 1 

Kxcise Trials, sketch, 1 scene .10 1 

Editor's Troul)les, farce, in 1 scene.. 6 
Elopement (The), farce, 2 scenes. . . 4 1 
Fe low That Looks Like Me, inter- 
lude, 1 scene 2 1 

Fishcjiinan's Luck, sketch, 1 scene. 2 
First Night (The), Dutch sketch, 4 

scenes 4 2 

Oliost (The), sketch, 1 scene 2 

(Jlyceriiie Oil, sketch, 2 scenes 3 

<i<)in'.;fortheCu|), interlude, 1 scene 4 
Ghost in a Pawnshop, 1 scene . 4 
(iuide to the Stage, sketch. 1 scene. 3 
Getting Square on the Call Boy, 

sketch, 1 scene 3 

Good Ni-'hi s Best, sketch, 1 scene 3 
German Emigr'ant, Dutch sketch, 1 

scene 3 1 

Giipsack, 8k(;tch, 1 scene 3 

Hemmed In, sketch, 1 scene 3 1 

Hal d Times, extravaganza, 1 scene. 5 1 
Hi'.?h Jack, the Heeler, 1 scene.. C 

Happy Couple, sketch, 1 scene 3 1 

Hippotheatron, s.^etch, 1 scene 9 

In and Out, sketch, 1 scene 2 

Jealous Husband, sketch, 1 scene 2 1 



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